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THE  LIBRARY 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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CAMP-FIRE,  MEMORIAL-DAY, 


OTHER  POEMS. 


KATE  BROWNLEE  SHERWOOD. 


CHICAGO : 

JANSEN,    McCLURG,  &   COMPANY. 
1885. 


COPYRIGHT, 

BY  JANSEN,  McCujRG.  &  Co., 
A.D.  1885. 


R.  K.  POSNBLLKY  A  SONS,  TUB  LAKESIDE  PBKS 


PS 


SSSIc, 


IN  THE   SPIRIT  OF 

FRATERNITY,  CHARITY,  AND  LOYALTY, 

TO   WHOSE   MAJESTIC   MEASURES  THE 

VETERANS  OF  THE  GRAND  ARMY  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 

HAVK  TIMED    THEIR   STEPS, 
1    BRING  THESE   SIMPLE    RECITALS    OF   FEALTY  AND  VALOR 

IN  HONOR  OF  THE  LIVING  AND  IN  REVERENT  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD, 

AND  LAY  THEM  ON  THB  ALTAR  OF 

MY   COUNTRY— REUNITED,    REGENERATED, 
AND  AT  PEACE. 


764007 


CONTENTS. 


PART   I. 

PAGE 

MEMORIES  OF  THE  WAR,  9 

THE  OLD  FLAG,       -  14 
ULRIC  DAHLGREN,         -                       ...      20 

FOREVER  AND  FOREVER,     -  23 

MEMORIAL  DAY  AT  ANDERSONVILLE,  1884,     -  -      30 

THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA,  34 

THE  GRAND  ARMY  OF  THE  REPUBLIC,  -      40 

THE  MCPHERSON  STATUE,  -  50 

SIGHTLESS  SCARS,           -  56 

FALL  IN  !       -  59 

THE  NATION'S  MEMORIAL,        -  63 

SONS  OF  VETERANS,  72 

DEAD  ON  THE  BORDER,                                     -  -      74 

HAIL  TO  THE  FLAG,  77 

FOR  His  DEAR  SAKE,    -           -           -           -  -      88 

THE  DRUMMER  BOY  OF  MISSION  RIDGE,  90 
THE  SOLDIER'S  RING,    -                       ...      99 

AYE,  BRING  THE  FADELESS  EVERGREENS,            -  108 

THE  BOYS  OF  MICHIGAN,          -                       -  -    112 

THE  BLACK  REGIMENT  AT  PORT  HUDSON,           -  116 

WELCOME  HOME,  -     124 

CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  SOLDIERS'  ORPHANS'  HOME,  129 

CHARGE  OF  THE  MAINE  REGIMENTS,  -  136 

THE  BOY  HERO'S  MOTHER,            ...  139 
(s) 


CONTENTS. 


PAGK 

TOAST  OF  THE  IRISH  VOLUNTEER,       -  -    142 

THE  WELCOME  GRAVE,        -  -          145 
COMRADESHIP,     -..-..    150 

TWENTY  YEARS  AGO,          -  -                      152 

PART   II. 

PRISCILLA,  AQUILA,  AND  PAUL,             -  -           -    161 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  MAY,  -           -          169 

SWEET  CHARITY,                        -  -    172 

MARGUERITE,                        .  -177 

O,  FRIEND  OF  MINE,     -  -    179 

TURN  O'ER  A  NEW  LEAF,  -           -  -           -          180 

WATCHING  FOR  ME  AT  THE  WINDOW,  -    181 
A  NEW  YEAR'S  WISH,         ....           183 

STARRY  WITNESSES,       -  -    184 

WOOD  VIOLETS,         -  186 

THE  OLD  GNARLED  APPLE-TREE,         -  -    188 

A  FRIEND'S  SOUVENIR,         -  192 

WHAT  DO  THE  ROSES  SAY?  -    194 

VISIONS  OF  THE  NIGHT,      -  -          195 

THE  FIRST  CROCUS,       ...  -    197 

MARION,         -                       -  .           199 

MY  NAMESAKE,  -    202 

FRATERNITY,  CHARITY,  LOYALTY,  -           -          204 

THE  POET'S  WORLD,       -  -    206 
HE  LEADETH  ME,    -----          209 

AUF   WlEDERSEHEN,          -               -               -  -                -212 


PART   I. 


CAMP-FIRE    AND    MEMORIAL -DAY 
POEMS. 


MEMORIES   OF   THE   WAR. 

WHENEVER  I  hear  the  fife  and  the  drum, 

And  the  bugle  wildly  play, 
My  heart  is  stirred  like  a  frightened  bird, 

And  struggles  to  break  away  ; 
For  the  tramp  of  the  Volunteers  I  hear, 

And  the  Captain's  sharp  command  : 
"Left/  Left!  Left!"     He  is  near 

And  drilling  his  eager  band. 

For  the  women  and  men  were  at  one  that  day, 

In  a  purpose  grand  and  great ; 
But  the  men  are  away  in  a  stormy  fray, 

And  the  women  must  watch  and  wait. 

And  some  were  as  brown  as  the  tawny  South, 
And  some  like  the  dawn  were  fair  ; 

And  here  was  the  lad  with  his  girlish  mouth, 
And  there  was  the  beard  of  care. 

But  whether  from  farm  or  from  fold  they  drew, 
From  the  shop  or  the  school-boy's  seat, 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


Each  shouldered  his  musket  and  donned  the  blue, 
And  the  time  with  his  brogans  beat. 

And  the  mother  put  motherly  fears  to  flight, 

And  the  wife  hid  her  tears  away  ; 
For  men  must  fight  when  their  cause  is  right, 

While  the  women  in  patience  pray. 

And  now  'tis  the  discipline  hard  and  sore 

Of  the  camp  and  the  march  and  the  chase, 
And  now  'tis  the  flash  and  the  crash  and  the  roar, 

As  the  battle  creeps  on  apace. 
O  God  !  it  is  hard  when  a  comrade  falls, 

With  his  head  at  your  very  feet, 
While  "Forward!  "  the  voice  of  your  Captain  calls, 

And  the  enemy  beats  retreat. 

And  O  for  the  mother  or  wife  who  must  see, 
When  the  news  of  the  battle  is  known  : 

"Killed,  Private  C.  of  Company  G," 
While  she  sits  in  her  grief  like  stone. 

Here,  the  pitiless  siege  and  the  hunger  that  mocks  ; 
There,  the  hell  of  Resaca  waits  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


And  the  crash  of  the  shell  on  the  Georgia  rocks, 

As  you  beat  on  Atlanta's  gates. 
There  are  dreams  of  a  peace  that  is  slow  to  dawn, 

Of  the  furloughs  that  never  come  ; 
There  are  tidings  of  grief  from  a  letter  drawn, 

And  the  silence  of  lips  grown  dumb. 

The  words  of  your  messmate  you  write  from  the  crag 

Where  he  breathed  his  life  away  : 
"  O  say  to  my  darling  I  died  for  the  flag 

She  blessed  ivhen  we  marched  that  day" 

There  are  chevroned  sleeves  for  some  who  may  go, 

And  a  captain's  straps  for  a  few, 
And  the  scars  of  the  hero  that  some  may  show 

When  is  sounded  the  last  tattoo  ; 
But  the  upturned  face  on  the  enemy's  side, 

With  its  cold  and  ghastly  stare, 
Is  all  that  is  left  of  the  pomp  and  the  pride 

Of  some  who  the  conflict  share. 

And  lo,  when  the  enemy  lifts  the  dead 
And  rifles  his  breast,  I  ween 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


There's  a  woman's  face  and  the  dainty  grace 
Of  the  babe  he  never  has  seen. 

And  O  for  the  famine,  and  O  for  the  woe, 

Of  the  comrades  in  prison  pens  ! 
For  the  hunger  and  thirst,  and  the  fever  slow, 

And  the  torturing  homesick  sense  ! 
And  O  for  the  phantoms  that  walk  by  night 

And  the  phantoms  that  walk  by  day  ! 
And  the  whirl  of  the  brain  in  the  hopeless  fight 

With  the  demons  that  gloat  and  prey  ! 

And  O  for  the  scenes  that  they  loved  so  well, 

That  haunted  their  dying  day, — 
For  a  draught  from  the  well  that  will  never  swell, 

And  a  breath  of  the  new-mown  hay ! 

Ah  well,  there  are  few  who  are  left,  we  know, 

Of  the  many  who  marched  away  ; 
And  the  children  who  clung  to  our  skirts,  I  trow, 

Are  as  tall  and  strong  as  they. 
There  are  unmarked  graves  in  the  lonely  South, 

There  are  spectres  that  walk  at  will, — 
But  the  flag  that  you  saved  at  the  cannon's  mouth 

Is  the  flag  that  is  over  you  still. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  13 

The  flag  thro'  the  shot  and  the  shell  that  you  bore, 

And  wrapped  in  your  blouses  blue, 
The  flag  that  your  swore  to  defend  evermore, 

Is  the  flag  of  the  Union  too. 


14  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


THE   OLD   FLAG. 

BRONZED  and  bearded   the  veterans   stood  ;   their 

ranks  were  sparse  and  slim  ; 
And  the  Colonel  standing  before  them  felt  his  eyes 

grow  strangely  dim  ; 
He  thought  of  the  muster,  he  thought  of  the  march, 

he  thought  of  a  darker  day, 
And  he  thinks  he  hears  through  the  hush  of  years 

the  sharp  artillery  play  ; 
And  he  sees  the  flashing  of  burnished  steel,  and  the 

hurrying  cannoneer  ; 
And  he  hears,  while  his  heart  leaps  up  again,  the 

long-roll  sounding  clear, 
And  the  rub,  rub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  falls  sharp  on  his 

listening  ear. 

The  Colonel  stood  with  head  bowed  down,  and  his 

breast  heaved  hard  and  fast, 
As  he  thought  of  the  parting  and  thought  of  the 

pain  and  thought  of  the  dangers  past, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  IS 

Of  Bob,  and  Willie,  and  John,  and  Jim,— of  the 

brave  lads  sent  to  death 
With  the  kisses  pressed  by  a  mother's  lips  kept  warm 

to  their  dying  breath  ; 
He  thought  of  the  pride  of  his  men  so  true,  as  they 

swept  on  the  enemy's  lines, 
He  thought  of  their  valor,  as,  crouched  and  cold, 

they  fought  in  the  pitiless  pines, 
Mid  the  rub,  rub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  and  the  flashing  of 

hidden  mines. 

The  Colonel's  voice  is  so  loud  and  strong  he  could 

rally  a  whole  brigade, 
With  his  charge  in  the  face  of  the  enemy's  guns,  in 

the  din  of  the  cannonade  ; 
But  now,  as  he  speaks,  for  the  smothered  tears  you 

can  scarcely  his  story  learn, 
He  speaks  so  slow  and  he  speaks  so  low  to  the  hearts 

that  within  us  burn, — 
He  speaks  so  slow  and  he  speaks  so  low,  for  he  tells 

of  a  sore  defeat, 
With  the  color-guard  felled  like  a  dog  to  the  earth 

and  the  colors  beneath  his  feet, 
While  the  rub-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  is  beat- 
ing a  slow  retreat. 


16  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

As  brave  as  a  lion  our  color-guard  stood  ;  but  they 

charged  us  three  to  one, 
And  our  lines  fell  back  in  ruin  and  wrack  from  the 

havoc  of  grape  and  gun  — 
Fell  back  with  a  comrade's  cry  in  their  ears  and  a 

comrade's  pain  in  their  heart, 
And  the  ghastly  stare  of  the  shattered  slain  forever 

of  life  a  part, — 
With  the  rifled  dead,  and  the  riddled  blue,  and  the 

flag  of  their  dear  desire, 
To  serve  as  the  trophies  of  jeer  and  jest  around  an 

enemy's  fire, 
And  the  rub-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  a  dirge 

for  their  funeral  pyre. 

The  Colonel  said  :     "  It  is  sad,  my  men,  that  now 

that  the  war  is  done, 
And  we  come  to  talk  of  the  troubles  past,  and  the 

dawn  of  a  gladder  sun, 
That  still  in  the  van  of  our  broken  ranks  the  old 

flag  may  not  go, — 
It  lies,  with  the  pride  of  our  regiment,  at  the  feet 

of  a  mocking  foe  ; 
We  may  boast  our  triumphs,  and  count  our  scars, 

and  dream  of  a  great  reward, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


But  the  flag  that  has  led  us  through  thick  and  thin 

is  down  with  the  color-guard, 
Where  no  rub-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  may 

sweep  o'er  the  peaceful  sward." 

Then  over  the  bronzed  and  bearded  men  a  tremor 

of  gladness  swept, 
As  one  by  one  they  drew  from  their  breasts  a 

trophy  that  each  had  kept ; 
And  one,  with  a  trembling  in  his  voice,  that  was 

more  of  joy  than  tears, 
Stood  up  to  speak  for  the  battle-scarred  ranks  of 

the  veteran  volunteers, — 
And  they  marked  him  well  as  a  valiant  man  in  the 

march  or  the  fiercest  fight, 
Who  never  had  swerved  when  the  call  was  close,  to 

the  left,  or  yet  to  the  right, 
While  the  rub,  rub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  was  calling  for 

men  of  might. 

And  he  said,  "  My  Colonel,  'twas  I  stood  by  when 
our  color-guard  fell  that  day, 

And  under  the  stress  of  unequal  strength  our  regi- 
ment melted  away, 


l8  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

And  I  tore,  ere  I  went,  the  tattered  rags  that  clung 

to  the  staff  of  oak, 
That  has  led  us  to  victory  time  on  time  through 

the  cloud  and  the  fire  and  the  smoke, 
And  I  folded  them  close  to  my  heart,  just  here ;  for 

I  could  not  then  forget 
If  the  boys  could  but  look  on  their  colors  snatched 

from  the  hell  of  that  parapet, 
That  the  rub-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  would 

lead  them  to  victory  yet." 

They  gathered  around  their  Colonel  so  dear  ;  and 

each  had  a  tattered  shred 
Of  the  flag  that  had  cheered  on  the  living,  that  had 

rallied  their  comrades  dead  ; 
And  they  stitched  with  the  fragments  of  glory  the 

thoughts  of  a  holier  day — 
Of  the  gallant  and  true  whose  red  rich  blood  still 

mottled  it  where  it  lay  ; 
And  up  from  a  staff,  new-carven,  they  raised  the 

sacred  thing, 
And  wildly  and  yet  more  wildly  the  cheers  of  the 

veterans  ring, 
While  rub-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  exultant 

the  tidings  wing. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  19 

O  flag  of  our  fathers  !  O  flag  of  our  sons  !  O  flag 
of  a  world's  desire  ! 

Through  the  night  and  the  light,  through  the  fright 
and  the  fight,  through  the  smoke  and  the  cloud 
and  the  fire, 

There  are  arms  to  defend,  there  are  hearts  to  be- 
friend, there  are  souls  to  bear  up  from  the  pall, 

While  thy  cluster  of  stars  broodeth  over  the  wars, 
that  justice  and  mercy  befall  ! 

There  are  breasts  that  will  clasp  it  when  tattered 
and  torn,  there  are  prayers  to  brood  like  a  dove, 

There  are  fingers  to  fashion  it  fold  unto  fold,  and 
hands  that  will  wave  it  above, 

While  the  mb-a-dub  dub,  dub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  is  beat- 
ing the  marches  of  Love  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


ULRIC   DAHLGREN. 

A  FLASH  of  light  across  the  night, 

An  eager  face,  an  eye  afire  ! 
O  lad  so  true,  you  may  yet  rue 

The  courage  of  your  deep  desire  ! 

"Nay,  tempt  me  not;  the  way  is  plain  — 
'Tis  but  the  coward  checks  his  rein ; 

For  there  they  lie 

And  there  they  cry 
For  whose  dear  sake  'twere  joy  to  die  !  " 

He  bends  unto  his  saddle  bow, 
The  steeds  they  follow  two  and  two  ; 

Their  flanks  are  wet  with  foam  and  sweat, 
Their  riders'  locks  are  damp  with  dew. 

"  O  comrades,  haste  !  the  way  is  long, 
The  dirge  it  drowns  the  battle  song  ; 

The  hunger  preys, 

The  famine  slays, 
An  awful  horror  veils  our  ways  !  " 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


Beneath  the  pall  of  prison  wall 
The  rush  of  hoofs  they  seem  to  hear  ; 

From  loathsome  guise  they  lift  their  eyes, 
And  beat  their  bars  and  bend  their  ear. 

"Ah,  God  be  thanked!  our  friends  are  nigh 
He  wills  it  not  that  thus  we  die  ; 

O  fiends  accurst 

Of  Want  and  Thirst, 
Our  comrades  gather,  —  do  your  worst  !  " 

A  sharp  affright  runs  through  the  night, 
An  ambush  stirred,  a  column  reined  ; 

The  hurrying  steed  has  checked  his  speed, 
His  smoking  flanks  are  crimson  stained. 

O  noble  son  of  noble  sire, 

Thine  ears  are  deaf  to  our  desire  ! 

O  knightly  grace 

Of  valiant  race, 
Thy  grave  is  honor's  trysting-place ! 

O  life  so  pure  !     O  faith  so  sure  ! 

O  heart  so  brave,  and  true,  and  strong  ! 
With  tips  of  flame  is  writ  your  name, 

In  annaled  deed  and  storied  song  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 


It  flares  across  the  solemn  night, 
It  glitters  in  the  radiant  light ; 

A  jewel  set, 

Unnumbered  yet, 
In  our  Republic's  coronet ! 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  23 


FOREVER  AND   FOREVER. 

WHEN  men  forsook  their  shops  and  homes,  and 

stood  with  troubled  faces 
From  morn  till  night,  from  night  till  morn,  in  dusty 

market  spaces ; 
When  women  watched  beside  their  babes  in  anguish 

half  resisted, 
Until  the  husky  message  came  :     "  God  keep  you, 

I've  enlisted !  " 
When  all  day  long  the  drums  were  rolled  in  hateful 

exultation, 
And  fife  and  bugle  stung  with  pain  the  pulses  of  the 

Nation  ; 
When  woman's  hand  formed  every  star  that  flashed 

on  field  of  glory, 
And  woman's  tears  were  stitched  along  each  stripe 

in  jeweled  story, — 

What  said  we  then  ?     "  Go  forth,  brave  hearts  !    Go 

where  the  bullets  rattle  ! 
For  us  to  plan,  for  us  to  pray,  for  you  to  toil  and 

battle  ! 


24  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY. 

Ours  to  uphold,  yours  to  defend,   the   compact  none 

can  sever  ; 
And  sacred  be  your  name  and  fame,  forever  and 

forever  !  " 

When  charge  and  trench  gave  up  their  dead,  and 

loathsome  Southern  prison  ; 
When  on  the  march  the  hidden  shot  took  aim  with 

swift  precision  ; 
When  every  whitewashed  ward  put  out  the  light  of 

some  lone  dwelling, 
And  every  lumbering  ambulance  some  dying  plaint 

was  telling  ; 
When  fathers  took  their  papers  up  with  sense  of 

evil  presage, 
And  mothers  tore  with  stifling  sobs  the  wrap  of 

some  swift  message ; 
When  prone  the  people  lay  before  their  God  with 

sins  uncovered, 

And    with    overshadowing    awfulness    the    black- 
winged  angel  hovered, — 

What   said  we  then  ?     "  Stand  firm,  brave  hearts  ! 
stand  where  the  bullets,  crashing, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  25 

Cut  down  your  comrades  as  the  sheaves  go  down  before 
the  threshing  ! 

A  Nation  pleads  with  lifted  hands,  '  Give  up  the 
Union,  never  !  ' 

And  yours  the  glory  that  abides,  forever  and  for- 
ever !  " 

When  bronzed  and  scarred  and  tattered  sore,  the 
ranks  of  dusty  blue 

Came  up  from  Appomattox  with  their  banners  rid- 
dled through, 

An  hundred  for  a  thousand,  and  by  tens  where 
fifties  went, 

With  their  armless  sleeves  and  crutches  showing 
where  the  balls  were  spent  ; 

When  they  stacked  their  trusty  rifles  and  their  knap- 
sacks flung  aside, 

And  made  known  their  comrades'  messages  to  loved 
ones  ere  they  died, 

When  the  Nation  breathed  more  freely  than  for  ten 
long  years  before, 

Though  crape  hung,  freshly  knotted,  upon  many  a 
muffled  door, — 


26  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

What  said  we  then  ?     "  O  tried  and  true  who  live  to 

rise  and  rally, 
O  tried  and  true  who  sleep  so  well  by  storied  stream 

and  valley  ! 
We  bind  this  debt  upon  our  hearts,  which  time  cannot 

dissever, 
To  guard  your  name  and  shield  your  fame,  forever 

and  forever  !  " 

When  fort  and  rifle-pit  are  brought  unto  a  common 

level, 
And  where  the  soldier's  blood  ran  red,  the  long 

wild -grasses  revel ; 
When  year  by  year  the  ranks  go  down  that  thrilled 

to  deeds  of  glory, 
And  year  by  year  the  ear  grows  cold  to  patriotic 

story  ; 
When  men  forget,  in  stocks  and  trade  and  fevered 

speculation, 
That  any  smote  and  any  saved  the  honor  of  the 

Nation  ; 
When  policy  would  blot  the  names  of  hero  and  of 

battle, 
And  swear  we  never  saw  a  foe  or  heard  a  musket 

rattle, — 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  27 

What  say  we  now  ?  "  O  comrade  hearts  that  still 
are  strongly  bounding, 

And  comrade  hearts  that  wake  no  more  to  catch  the 
bugle's  sounding; 

As  when  you  fought,  as  when  you  fell,  your  mem- 
ory gladdens  ever; 

Our  faith  is  wedded  to  your  fame,  forever  and  for- 
ever !  " 

No  more  the  cartridge  answers  in  the  rifle  true  and 

trusty, 
And  the  good  sword  lies  neglected  in  its  scabbard 

dim  and  rusty  ; 
The  blue  and  gray  no  longer  are  the  colors  of 

division, 
And  "  Yank  "  and  "  Reb  "  are  heard  no  more  the 

nicknames  of  derision  ; 
The  malice  of  the  combat  is,  thank  God,  no  longer 

cherished, 
The  vengeance  that  relents  not  in  the  breasts  of  all 

has  perished, 
And  an  infinite  compassion  in  each  loyal  heart  is 

swelling 

For  the  vanquished  in  the  shadows  of  each  deso- 
lated dwelling, — 


28  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

Yet  say  we  now,  as  in  the  days  of  our  humilia- 
tion, 

As  in  the  days  when  triumph  crowned  the  armies 
of  the  Nation  : 

'•'•The  men  who  fought,  the  men  who  fell,  the  old  flag 
none  can  sever, 

Shall  all  be  shrined  in  loyal  hearts,  forever  and  for- 
ever !  " 

O  shadow-armies,  bending  where  the  roses  shed 

to-day 
Their  gentle   fragrance  typical  of  all  our  hearts 

would  say, 
From  the  spires  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  Golden  Gate 

sublime 
Where  Thomas  waits  his  old  reserves  who're  serving 

out  their  time  ! 
O  shadow-armies,  bending  where  the  drooping  lilies 

weep, 
With  the  watchers  broken-hearted  who  slumber  not 

nor  sleep  ! 
O  shadow-armies,  bending  from  the  summits  of  the 

stars, 
Bearing  up  the  flying  pennons   of  the  dear  old 

Stripes  and  Stars, — 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  29 

Bear  witness  that  we  keep  to-day  the  vows  that  we 

have  spoken, 
In  our  iliads,  in  our  anthems,  in  our  prayers  weak 

and  broken  ; —  » 

In  our  statues  proudly  rising,  in  the  statutes  none 

can  sever, 
From  the  records  of  a  Union,  sealed  forever  and 

forever  ! 


30  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


MEMORIAL     DAY    AT    ANDERSONVILLE, 
1884. 

O  COMRADES,  on  each  lonely  grave  we  place  one 

flower  to-day, 
More  sweet  than  any  that  shall  bloom  upon  the 

heart  of  May ; 
More  flush  in  blue  and  crimson,  with  starry  splendor 

crowned, 
Because  the  thunders  raged  above,  the  darkness 

hemmed  around  ; 
The  flower  that  our  fathers  saw,  an  hundred  years 

before, 

A  tiny  tendril  springing  by  the  lonely  cabin  door ; 
'Twas  sown  in  fears,  'twas  wet  with  tears,  till,  lo,  it 

burst  in  view, 
The  symbol  of  a  Nation's    hopes  —  the  Red,  the 

White,  the  Blue. 

Ah,  not  in  anger,  not  in  strife,  we  come  with  laden 

hands ; 
The  crimson  retinues  of  War  are  off  in  other  lands ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  31 

We  bring  the  blossoms  we  have  nursed  to  shed 

their  honeyed  breath 
Where  erst  the  reeling  ranks  of  wrath  unbarred  the 

gates  of  death ; 
We  lift  the  dear  dead  faces  of  our  heroes  to  the 

light, 
We  raise  the  pallid  hands  of  theirs,  we  clasp  and 

hold  them  tight ; 
We  say :  O  brothers,  rise  and  see  the  Peace  you 

helped  to  woo, 
Whose   snowy   pinions    hover  o'er  the    Red,  the 

White,  the  Blue. 

Not  yours,  O  silent  comrades,  the  ecstacy  of  strife, 
The  haughty  exaltation  that  rounds  the  hero's  life  ; 
Not  yours  the  flash  of  sabers,  the  shouts  of  the 

advance, 
The  gleam  of  thrusting  bayonets  that  shiver  as  they 

glance; 

Not  yours  upon  the  parapet  your  banner  to  unfurl, 
To  die  with  victory  on  your  lips,  as  back  your  feet 

they  hurl  ; 
The  whisper  of  a  kindling  hope,  while  gaily  over 

you 


32  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

The  silken  folds  are  dancing  out  —  the  Red,  the 
White,  the  Blue. 

Nay,  to  your  homesick  vision  the  mask  of  Death 

was  up, 
His  icy  breath  was  round  you,  his  draught  was  in 

the  cup ; 
A  terror  walks  at  noonday  ;  the  dreams  that  throng 

the  night 
But  take  the  wings  of  morning  and  vanish  ere  the 

light. 
But  oh,  our  fallen  heroes,  one  gleam  of  heaven 

shines 

Upon  the  ghastly  phalanxes,  along  the  ragged  lines, 
And   eyes  grown   dim  with  watching  are  lit  with 

courage  new, — 
They've   heard  the  tramp  of  comrades,  with  the 

Red,  the  White,  the  Blue. 

O  comrades  of  the   prison,   ye  have   not   died   in 

vain, 
For  lo,  the  march  of  harvests  where  War  has  trod 

the  plain  ! 
And  lo,  the  breath  of  lilies  and  of  rose  beyond 

compare, 


AND    OTHER   POEMS.  33 

And    the  sound   of   children   chanting   where   the 

cannon  rent  the  air  ! 
We  clasp  our  hands  above  you  with  tearful  hearts 

to-day, — 
Vour    brothers    who   have  worn    the    blue,   your 

brothers  of  the  gray  ; 

Our  hearts  are  one  forever,  whatever  men  may  do, 
And  over  all  the  glory  of  the  Red,  the  White,  the 

Blue. 

Ah,  not  in  strife  nor  anger  nor  idle  grief  we  come, 

With  thrill  and  throb  of  bugle,  with  clamor  of  the 
drum  ; 

We've  heard  the  wings  of  healing  above  the  war's 
surcease, 

And  lo,  the  Great  Commander  has  set  the  watch- 
word, "  Peace ! " 

Peace  to  the  free-born  millions  who  live  to  do  and 
dare, 

Peace  in  each  brave  endeavor,  in  whatever  lot  they 
share ! 

Above,  the  triune  colors,  so  dear  to  me  and  you, 

The   splendid    flower  that   Freedom  guards — the 
Red,  the  White,  the  Blue. 
3 


34  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA. 

IT   was  that  fierce  contested    field  when    Chicka- 

mauga  lay 
Beneath   the   wild   tornado  that  swept   her  pride 

away ; 
Her  dimpling  dales  and  circling  hills  dyed  crimson 

with  the  flood 
That  had  its  sources  in  the  springs  that  throb  with 

human  blood. 

"  Go  say  to  General  Harker  to  reinforce  his  right !  " 
Said  Thomas  to  his  aide-de-camp,  when  wildly  went 

the  fight ; 
In  front  the  battle  thundered,  it  roared  both  right 

and  left, 
But  like  a  rock  "  Pap "  Thomas  stood  upon  the 

crested  cleft. 

"  Where  will  I  find  you,  General,  when  I  return  ?  " 

The  aide 
Leaned   on   his    bridle-rein    to  wait    the    answer 

Thomas  made ; 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  35 

The  old  chief  like  a  lion  turned,  his  pale  lips  set 

and  sere, 
And  shook  his  mane,  and  stamped  his  foot,  and 

fiercely  answered,  "  Here  !  " 

The  floodtide  of  fraternal  strife  rolled  upward  to  his 

feet, 
And  like  the  breakers  on  the  shore  the  thunderous 

clamors  beat ; 
The   sad   earth  rocked  and  reeled  with  woe,  the 

woodland  shrieked  in  pain, 
And  hill  and  vale  were  groaning  with  the  burden  of 

the  slain. 

Who  does  not  mind  that  sturdy  form,  that  steady 

heart  and  hand, 
That  calm  repose  and  gallant  mien,  that  courage 

high  and  grand?  — 
O  God,  who  givest  nations  men  to  meet  their  lofty 

needs, 
Vouchsafe    another    Thomas    when    our    country 

prostrate  bleeds  ! 

They  fought  with  all  the  fortitude  of  earnest  men 
and  true — 


36  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

The  men  who  wore  the  rebel  gray,  the  men  who 

wore  the  blue  ; 
And  those,  they  fought  most  valiantly  for  petty 

state  and  clan, 
And  these,  for  truer  Union  and  the  brotherhood  of 

man. 

They  come,  those   hurling  legions,   with   banners 

crimson  splashed, 
Against  our  stubborn  columns  their  rushing  ranks 

are  dashed, 
Till    'neath   the   blistering   iron  hail   the  shy  and 

frightened  deer 
Go  scurrying  from  their  forest  haunts  to  plunge  in 

wilder  fear. 

Beyond,  our  lines  are  broken;  and  now  in  frenzied 

rout 
The  flower  of  the  Cumberland  has  swiftly  faced 

about ; 
And  horse  and  foot  and  color-guard  are  reeling 

rear  and  van, 
And  in  the  awful  panic  man   forgets  that   he  is 

man. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  37 

Now  Bragg,  with  pride  exultant  above  our  broken 
wings, 

The  might  of  all  his  army  against  "  Pap  "  Thomas 
brings  ; 

They're  massing  to  the  right  of  him,  they're  mass- 
ing to  the  left, 

Ah,  God  be  with  our  hero,  who  holds  the  crested 
cleft ! 

Blow,  blow,  ye  echoing  bugles !  give  answer, 
screaming  shell  ! 

Go,  belch  your  murderous  fury,  ye  batteries  of  hell ! 

Ring  out,  O  impious  musket !  spin  on,  O  shat- 
tering shot, — 

Our  smoke  encircled  hero,  he  hears  but  heeds  ye 
not ! 

Now  steady,  men  !    now  steady  !    make  one  more 

valiant  stand, 
For  gallant  Steedman's  coming,  his  forces  well  in 

hand  ! 
Close  up  your  shattered  columns,  take  steady  aim 

and  true, 
The  chief  who  loves  you  as  his  life  will  live  or  die 

with  you  ! 


38  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

By  solid  columns,  on  they  come  ;  by  columns  they 

are  hurled, 
As  down  the  eddying  rapids  the  storm-swept  booms 

are  whirled  ; 
And  when  the  ammunition  fails  —  O  moment  drear 

and  dread — 
The   heroes    load      their     blackened    guns     from 

rounds  of  soldiers  dead. 

God  never  set  his  signet  on  the  hearts  of  braver 

men, 
Or  fixed  the  goal  of  victory  on  higher  heights  than 

then; 
With  bayonets  and  muskets  clubbed,  they  close  the 

rush  and  roar ; 
Their  stepping-stones  to  glory  are  their  comrades 

gone  before. 

O  vanished  majesty  of  days  not  all  forgotten  yet, 
We  consecrate   unto  thy  praise  one  hour  of  deep 

regret ; 
One  hour  to  them  whose  days  were  years  of  glory 

that  shall  flood 
The  Nation's  sombre  night  of  tears,  of  carnage,and 

of  blood ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  39 

O    vanished    majesty   of   days,   when    men    were 

gauged  by  worth, 
Set  crowned  and  dowered  in  the  way  to  judge  the 

sons  of  earth  ; 
When  all  the  little  great  fell  down  before  the  great 

unknown, 
And  priest  put  off  the  hampering  gown  and  coward 

donned  his  own  ! 

O  vanished    majesty   of    days   that    saw   the    sun 

shine  on 
The  deeds  that  wake  sublimer  praise  than  Ghent 

or  Marathon  ; 
When  patriots  in  homespun  rose — where  one  was 

called  for,  ten — 
And  heroes  sprang  full-armored  from  the  humblest 

walks  of  men  ! 

O  vanished  majesty  of  days  !   Rise,  type  and  mould 

to-day, 
And  teach  our  sons  to  follow  on  where  duty  leads 

the  way  ; 
That  whatsoever  trial  comes,  defying  doubt  and 

fear, 
They  in  the  thickest  fight  shall  stand  and  proudly 

answer  "  Here  !  " 


4°  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL. DAY, 


THE  GRAND  ARMY  OF  THE  REPUBLIC. 

MESEEMED  a  vision  filled  the  night,  of  strong  men 

mustering, 
And  two  by  two  in  solemn  pride  they  strode  with 

sturdy  swing; 
I  stood  upon  the  battlements  and  saw  them  man 

the  guns, 
And  fling  the  halyards  to  the  breeze  where  mad 

mid-ocean  runs; 
To  right  of  me,  to  left  of  me,  they  rallied,  man  and 

man, 
Until,  meseemed,  the  plains  were  groves,  the  groves 

like  rivers  ran; 
I  heard  the  scream  of  bugles  and  the  throbbing  of 

the  drums, 
As  the  murmur  of  the  thunders  that  portend  the 

storm  that  comes. 

My  pulses  stung  and  trembled, my  blood  was  all  afire, 
To  see  the  sons  go  stalking  forth,  to  battle,  with 

their  sire; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  41 

"  God  keep  my  first-born  darling" the   mother   knelt 

to  pray, — 
And  so  our  great  Grand  Army  was  mustered  in 

that  day. 

Up  springs  the  stalwart  Lincoln   —  God  grant  his 

spirit  's  near  ! 
And  as  he  calls  the  roll  of  States,  they  rise  and 

answer:  "  Here  !  " 

Maine  shouts  to  Minnesota,  Vermont  to  Oregon: 
"  Who  hails  the  sword  of  Bunker  Hill,  rise  up  and 

put  it  on  !  " 
The  flame  has  lit  the  forges,  the  engines  pant  and 

fret, 

And  lo!  upon  the  hilltops  the  signal  fires  are  set: 
The  shade  of  Ethan  Allen  is  up  and  marching  now, 
And  Henry  fires  the  forum,  and  Putnam  leaves  the 

plow. 

Who  stems  the  tide  of  battle,  he  does  it  at  his  cost, 
Who  stays  a  hand   where    Freedom   leads,    he   is 

forever  lost; 
The  list  of  heroes  lengthens,  a  splendor  gilds  the 

scroll, — 
And  so  our  great  Grand  Army  made  up  its  battle 

roll. 


42  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

Oh,  there  was  brave  maneuver  in  sight  of  foe  and 

friend, 
And    toss   of   plume   and   feather,   and    marching 

without  end; 
And  there  were  banners  waving,  and  there  were 

songs  and  cheers, 
And  for  the  patriot  praises,  and  for  the  coward 

jeers; 
And  here  the  splendid  Infantry  accoutered  bright 

and  blue, 
And  there  the  gleaming  trappings  of  Cavalry  in 

view; 

And  flash  of  scarlet  gunners  and  riders  in  the  line, 
With  gorgeous  spreading  epaulettes  and  sashes  red 

as  wine; 
And  lo,  the  long  processions  of  maidens  drawing 

nigh, 

With  kisses  and  with  flowers,  to  say  a  last  good- 
bye; 

And  lo,  the  wives  a-lifting  their  babies  to  the  sun, — 
And  so  our  great  Grand  Army  beheld   its  work 

begun. 

I  turned  me  to  the   Southland,   and   War  swept 
into  view, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  43 

With  Famine  and  with  Fever  a-riding  one  and  two; 
And  there  was  clash  and  clamor  and  marshaling 

for  the  fray, 
And  in  the  shock  of  battle,  they  met,  the  Blue  and 

Gray; 
'Tis  brother  met  with  brother,  'tis  match  of  man 

and  man, 
The  jousts  of  peers  and  princes  upon  a  mightier 

plan; 

The  red,  red  tide  of  battle  is  sweeping  on  its  way, 
With  hope  and  heart  and  fortune,  forever  and  a 

day. 
But  not  in  knightly  crusade   or  quest  of    Holy 

Grail 

Were  purer  hands  uplifted,  did  holier  vows  pre- 
vail ; 
Nor  e'en  to  good  Sir  Galahad  were  saintlier  visions 

sent, 
Than  in  our  great  Grand  Army  to  dying  eyes  were 

lent. 

Play  up,  O  fife  and  bugle!  play  up,  sonorous  drum! 
The  legions  of  disunion,  they  tremble  as  ye  come ! 
Play   up  the  blue  Potomac .'    play  up   along  the 
James  ! 


44  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Where   patriot    cheers   are   swelling,    where    rebel 

laughter  shames  ! 
Play  up  the  slopes  of  Lookout!  play  up  both  loud 

and  fast, 
For   Farragut's  at   Mobile,   and   lashed   unto  the 

mast ! 
Play  up  for  Appomattox,  and  let  your  tunes  be 

gay, 

For  underneath  the  apple-tree  the  Blue  has  met 

the  Gray  ! 
Play  up  the  flag  of  Freedom  !  play  up  the  Stripes 

and  Stars  ! 
Play  down  the  rag  of  Treason  !  play  down  the  Stars 

and  Bars ! 
Play  up  the  "  March  through  Georgia,"  night  can 

not  always  last ! 
Play  up  our  great  Grand  Army  !    God  speed  it, 

first  and  last ! 

With  faded  coat  and  feather,  the  thin  battalions 

come, 
And    here    the    drooping   banner,  and   there    the 

muffled  drum  ; 
The  gleam  of  splendid  trappings  may  nevermore 

be  told, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  45 

The  scarlet  and  the  crimson,  the  glitter  and  the 

gold. 
Within   the   awful   prisons   the   ragged   ranks   are 

mute, 
With   never  a  dirge  lamenting  and    never  a  last 

salute  ; 

And  many  a  brave  battalion  goes  down  forever- 
more, 
Since  War  has  supped  with   Fever  while   Famine 

kept  the  door. 

And  lo,  beyond  the  prison,  beyond  the  faded  lines, 
The  sad  and  slow  processions  go  sadly  'mong  the 

pines  : 
The  maidens  and  the  mothers  a-searching  for  the 

slain, 
Who  with  our  great  Grand  Army  will  never  come 

again. 

Unite  your  ranks,  O  comrades !  consolidate  bri- 
gades ! 

Call  in  vidette  and  picket !  suspend  your  dashing 
raids  ! 

Take  home  your  captured  cannon  and  mould  them 
into  stars, 


46  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

To  deck  the  breasts  of  veterans  returning  from  the 

wars  ! 
Swing   out   the   tattered   banners,   though   riddled 

through  and  through  ; 
With   elbow   touching    elbow   begin    your    Grand 

Review  ; 
Was    ever    seen    such    marching,   say,   comrades, 

'neath  the  sun, 

As  army  meeting  army  you  made  at  Washington  ? 
The  hilltops  are  exultant !  the  streets  with  joy  are 

wild, 
And  the  veteran's  heart  is  thrilled  with  thoughts  of 

home  and  wife  and  child  ; 
Cheers  meeting  cheers  resounding  make  up  a  sea 

of  sound, 
That  lauds  our  great  Grand  Army  wherever  fame 

is  found  ! 

Play  up  !  play  up,  ye  bugles !  play  up,  both  fife 

and  drum  ! 
But  not  from  wars  returning  to-day  our  comrades 

come  ! 

Maine  calls  to  Minnesota,  Vermont  to  Oregon  : 
"  Who  hails  the  sword  of  Bunker  Hill,  rise  up  and 

journey  on!" 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  47 

The  picket-guards  of  Freedom  are  on  the  outward 

line, 
And  on  the  heights  of  victory  their  banners  we 

define  ; 
They  wage  a  grander  warfare  than  any  has  been 

told, 
And  prairie  yields  her  treasure  and  mountain  gives 

her  gold. 
Play  up,  play  up  the  music  to  which  our  comrades 

fell, 
The  tunes  that  in  a  hundred  fights  they  loved  both 

long  and  well ! 
Play   up,   where   freemen  gather !   wherever   man 

meets  man, 
'Tis  there  our  great  Grand   Army  is  ever  in  the 

van  ! 

Play  up,  O  fife  and  bugle !  play  up,  sonorous 
drum  ! 

Play  up  the  hosts  of  Freedom  rejoicing  as  they 
come  ! 

Play  up  the  war-worn  soldiers,  wherever  they  may 
stand  ! 

Play  up  the  old  Potomac;  play  up  the  Cumber- 
land ! 


48  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

The  veterans   are  coming,  be  still  my  heart  and 

hear, 

It  is  the  glad  hosanna,  it  is  the  Union  cheer  ! 
Heaven  speed  the  fight  they're  making  !    Heaven 

give  to  each  his  due, 
Who  bore  the  brunt  of  battle  to  keep  the  Union 

true  ! 
Play  up,  while  lo,  before  them  we  lay  our  brightest 

flowers, 
While  mirth  and   song  and  laughter  beguile  the 

golden  hours  ! 
From  Maine  to  Minnesota,  play  up  our  comrades 

true, 
Who  in  our  great   Grand   Army  have  worn  the 

Union  blue. 

Play  up  the  march  of  Empire  !  play  up  the  march 

of  Love  ! 
The  mighty  West  before  us  !  the  Stars  and  Stripes 

above  ! 

Play  up  the  South  returning !  play  up  the  reveille  ; 
Play  up  for  truer  Union  !  play  up  for  States  to  be  ! 
Play  up  the  struggling  nations  whose  eyes  have 

hailed  the  morn 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  49 

That  glows  above  the  cradle  where   Liberty  was 

born  ! 
Play  up  the  toiling  millions,  whose  race   is  but 

begun  ; 

Play  up,  play  up  for  Lincoln  !  Play  up  for  Washing- 
ton ! 
Play  up  the  Union  rally  !  play  up  both  loud  and 

shrill : 
One  heart,  one  hope,  one  faith,  one  flag,  shall  be  our 

slogan  still  ! 
Play    up    the   "  March    through    Georgia,"  your 

merriest  music  play  ! 
Play  up  our  great  Grand   Army  forever  and  for 

aye! 


50  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


THE   McPHERSON   STATUE. 
[Unveiled  at  Clyde,  O.,  July  22,  /<££/.] 

O  FRIENDS,  why  gather  you  here  to-day  in  the  flush 

of  the  golden  weather, 
With  your  arms  reversed  and  your  colors  furled,  and 

your  heads  bowed  low  together  ? 
There  are  cheers  for  the  victor,  and  flowers  for  the 

bride,  and  songs  for  the  happy- hearted, 
And  a  prayer  for  the  soul  that  is  groping  alone  in 

the  shadows  that  time  has  started  ; 
There's  a  kiss  for  the  child,  and  a  ring  for  the  bride, 

and  a  rose  for  the  happy  lover, 
There  are  smiles  for  the  guest,  and  a  rosy  nest  that 

the  last-born  babe  may  cover  ; 
There's  a  laugh  for  the  feast,  and  a  gift  for  the 

priest ;  there  are  vows  for  the  holy  altar  ; 
But  what  has  the  valley  of  death  for  him  in  whose 

praises  our  voices  falter  ? 

"O  Jamie  McPherson,  Jamie  McPherson  !  "       The 
cry  is  the  cry  of  a  mother  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  5 1 

But  the  little  lad  goes,  and  the  little  lad  comes  no 

more  beside  sister  or  brother  ; 
The  little  lad  goes,  and  the  cherished  chief  comes 

a  prince  in  his  pride  and  his  valor ; 
And  the  hero-heart  thrills  as  it  fills  with  his  fame, 

and  the  craven  is  ashen  with  pallor. 
'  '  O  Jamie  Me  P her  son,  Jamie  Me  P  her  son  /"       The 

cry  is  the  cry  of  a  Nation, 
For  the  prince  in  his  pride  lieth  low  in  the  trail  and 

the  trampling  of  sore  tribulation. 
The  brave  heart  is  dust  and  the  bright  sword  is  rust, 

and  under  the  sod  he  is  lying, 
Whose  heart  was  a  babe's  in  the  lovelight  of  peace, 

and  a  lion's  when  bullets  were  flying. 

As  over  the  grave  of  her  first-born  son  the  mother 

in  infinite  yearning 
Remembers  each  kiss  and  each  touch  of  the  hand 

from  the  gloom  of  the  shadows  returning, 
Recalls  all  the  grace  of  the  best-beloved  face  as  she 

scatters  the  lilies  and  roses, 
While  a  tear  on  each  stem  like  a  diadem  the  wealth 

of  devotion  discloses, — 
So  over  the  grave  of  her  hero  to-day  the  Nation  in 

sorrow  is  bending, 


52  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

The  rose  of  regret  and  the  roses  of  love  with  the 

lilies  of  memory  blending  ; 
The  grace  of  the  lily,  the  pride  of  the  rose,  that 

sweet  in  the  heart  are  a-blowing, 
Where  the  soil  is  a  prayer,  and  the  dew  is  a  tear,  and 

a-sorrow  the  hand  that  is  sowing. 

Before  this  mute  image  of  soldierly  pride,  ye  com- 
rades who  loved  him,  uncover  ! 
No  lordlier  man  than  it  symbols  e'er  rode  with  the 

ranks  of  the  knight  or  the  lover  ; 
No  statelier  form  wore  the  blue  and  the  gold,  and 

the  shimmer  of  stars  on  hie  shoulder, 
With  a  steadier  mien  and  a  steadier  heart  and  a  step 

that  was  truer  and  bolder. 
No  voice  with  a  call  that  was  clearer  rang  out  where 

the  columns  were  forming, 
No  chief  with  an  eye  that  was  keener  swept  on 

where  the  battle  was  storming — 
Sped  the  charge  of  the  lines,  scaled  the  crest  of  the 

pines,  bore  down  to  the  carnage  the  faster, 
Lay  calmly  to  rest  with  face  to  the  foe  in  the  gloom 

of  a  direr  disaster. 


AND    OTHER   POEMS.  53 

Before  this  mute  image  of  greatness,  dear  sons  of 

the  commonwealth,  tarry  ! 
For  here  were  the  virtues  that   nations  extol,  the 

graces  that  princes  should  carry  ; 
The  courage  to  toil,  and  the  life  without  soil,  the 

filial  faith,  and  the  largess 
Of  spirit  that  follows  where  Fealty  leads  the  fire  of 

her  furious  charges  ; 
The  hero  to  place  and  the  hero  to  plan  in  the  whirl 

of  the  maddening  clamor, 
Where  the  bravest  turn  pale  and  the  boldest  are 

dumb  and  the  lips  of  the  eloquent  stammer. 
Aye,  tarry  and  study  !  the  models  are  few,  and  the 

men  of  his  mould  are  fast  falling  ; 
Bow  down  in  the  dust  when  ye  list  to  their  names, 

their  mighty  achievements  recalling. 

Dear  land  of  our  love,  dear  land  of  our  hopes  !  till 

the  pride  of  the  patriot  perish, 
The  deeds  they  have  wrought,  and  the  fame  they 

have  won,  in  the  heart  of  our  hearts  we  will 

cherish. 
The  valleys  we  till  and  the  mountains  we  scale  that 

girdle  the  zone  of  the  Nation 


54  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

Are  greater  and  grander  because  they  ran  red  with 

the  wine  of  their  soul's  consecration  ; 
And  the  hopes  of  the  brave,  and  the  loves  of  the 

true,  and  the  aim  of  each  earnest  endeavor, 
In  the  sun  of  their  greatness  shall  ripen  and  yield  in 

the  cycles  of  memory  ever  : 
In  the  purpose  to  dare  and  the  courage  to  bear,  in 

the  glory  of  high  aspiration, 
In  the  clasp  of  a  hand  and  the  flight  of  a  prayer,  in 

the  beauty  of  pure  adoration. 

O  Jamie  McPherson  !  Jamie  McPherson  !  when  men 

of  thy  model  He  giveth, 
Eye  looks  unto  eye,  and   heart  calls   unto   heart, 

"  Though  darkness  be  over,  God  liveth" 
So  the  weak  are  made  bold  and  the  strong  are  held 

true,   and   a   Voice   stays    the    storm's    awful 

power, 
And  the  smiles  of  a  Love  that  embraces  the  world 

fall  down  in  a  scintillant  shower. 
O  Jamie  McPherson  !  Jamie  McPherson  !    As  they 

mingle  their  praises  who  love  thee, 
Ohio,  thy  fond  mother,  blesses  to-day  the  honors 

she  gathers  above  thee  : 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  55 

Thou,  flower  and  fruit  of  her  motherhood's  dream, 
brave  son  of  her  prophesied  glory, 

Immortal  in  name  and  undying  in  fame,  and  match- 
less in  epic  and  story  ! 

Let  the  marble  and  bronze  tell  the  deeds  of  thy  fame, 

and  the  lily  and  rose  how  we  love  thee, 
While  the  grasses  grow  greener  that  over  thee  wave, 

and  the  breezes  blow  blither  above  thee  ; 
For  the  seasons  may  come,  and  the  seasons  may  go, 

and  the  lilies  and  roses  may  cover, 
But  no  statelier  chief  or  no  faithfuler  friend  shall 

ride  down  with  the  knight  and  the  lover  ! 
In  the  sleet  and  the  snow,  in  the  sun  and  the  shine 

in  the  days  of  a  far  generation, 
Brave  soldier !   keep  guard,  for  thy  type  it  is  true, 

and  thy  shrine  shareth  love's  adoration  ! 
Keep  watch  and  keep  ward,  while  our  sons  shall 

keep  guard  o'er  the  banner  that  shadowed  thee 

dying  ! 
Keep  watch  and  keep  ward,  while  the  Stripes  and 

the  Stars  in  the  vanguard  of  nations  is  flying  ! 


56  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


SIGHTLESS   SCARS. 

HE  bears  no  wounds  on  each  shapely  limb, 

No  scar  on  his  sun- browned  cheek, 
The  crash  of  the  bullets  have  left  to  him 

No  tremor  of  nerves  grown  weak  ; 
And  yet  he  has  lost,  O  God,  how  much, 

Of  all  that  is  dear  to  a  man  !  — 
The  strength  to  say  "  No  "  to  the  tempter's  touch, 

And  the  will  to  arise  from  his  ban. 

"  He  fought  for  the  flag  ?  "     Aye,  fought  with  his 
might, 

Though  a  boy  with  a  beardless  face, 
And  his  breath  was  aflame  as  he  sprang  to  the  fight, 

Though  his  lips  wore  a  nameless  grace. 
Who  saw  him  are  sure  he  would  freely  have  given 

His  life  for  his  country's  weal  ; 
He  sprang  to  the  breach  when  the  line  was  riven, 

As  if  with  his  body  to  heal. 


AND    OTHER    POEMS.  57 

None  ever  beheld  his  back  to  the  foe, 

None  heard  a  complaint  or  a  sigh  ; 
He  was  glad  he  could  march  with  the  serried  row, 

He  was  glad  he  could  dare  to  die  ; 
But  the  heat  and  the  cold,  and  the  hunger  and 

thirst, 

They  warred  with  the  shot  and  shell, — 
And  the  lad  found  a  balm  in  the  cup  accursed 
For  the  woes  of  a  wilder  hell. 

Friend,  give  him  a  hand  ;  he  has  given  for  you 

The  whole  that  a  man  can  give 
Who  yet  must  toil  and  yet  must  do 

What  little  he  may  to  live  ; 
He  laid  his  hopes  of  a  lifetime  down 

When  he  donned  the  sword  that  day, 
And  put  off  the  student's  cap  and  gown 

To  follow  the  troops  away. 

You  stood  heaping  gold  in  the  market-place ; 

He  scaled  to  the  peaks  of  war  ;  — 
Now  pause  as  you  look  in  his  war-worn  face, 

And  say  whose  the  honors  are ! 


58  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

And  give  him  a  hand  as  he  gropes  alone — 
A  hand  that  is  warm  and  true — 

As  God  who  sits  on  His  judgment  throne 
Shall  judge  betwixt  him  and  you. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  59 


FALL   IN. 

FALL  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers  ! 

The  reveille  is  heard, 
And  bivouac  and  picket 

Are  at  the  summons  stirred  ; 
Fall  in,  that  you  may  answer 

The  roll-call  sounding  clear, 
And  when  the  Sergeant  calls  your  name 

Prepare  to  answer  "  Here  !  " 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers, 

And  rub  your  sleepy  eyes ; 
The  mists  of  time  are  heavy 

Around  you.  as  you  rise  ; 
The  friendships  on  the  musket  sworn 

Grow  rusty  as  its  lock  ; 
Fall  in  once  more,  touch  elbows, 

As  in  the  battle's  shock. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers, 
By  whatever  name  you  bear, — 


60  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

If  you've  made  the  march  through  Georgia, 
If  at  Richmond  you  were  there  ; 

If  on  Lookout's  lofty  tablets 

You've  writ  your  names  in  blood, 

If  you've  stemmed  the  hosts  at  Franklin, 
Pouring  onward  like  a  flood. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers, — 

You  who  recall  the  day 
At  Corinth  on  the  battlefield — 

The  dead  around  you  lay, 
When  Rosecrans  rode  down  the  lines 

To  Fuller's  old  brigade  : 
"  /  take  my  hat  off  in  the  face 

Of  men  like  these"  he  said. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers, — 

You  who  from  Red  House  Bridge 
Moved  on  to  Chickamauga 

When  Thomas  held  the  ridge  ; 
Moved  on  with  gallant  Steedman 

That  day  he  broke  away 
Like  a  lion  from  his  covert 

When  he  heard  the  battle  bray. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  61 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers  ; 

Perchance  you  followed  well 
At  Kenesaw  with  Harker 

And  caught  him  when  he  fell  ; 
Perchance  you  joined  the  wild  mad  cry 

That  through  the  army  ran  : 
Me  P  her  son  and  revenge  !  "  then  smote 

The  foemen  rear  and  van. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers  ; 

A  glory  crowns  you  still, 
For  marches  under  Sherman, 

For  raids  with  "  Little  Phil." 
Though  you  swore  by  Grant  or  Thomas, 

Or  by  Custer  early  dead, 
There  are  roses  for  each  bosom, 

There  are  laurels  for  each  head. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers  ; 

Each  day  the  ranks  grow  small, 
Each  day  a  voice  grows  silent 

Heard  at  the  last  roll-call  ; 
A  comrade's  voice  makes  answer 

Where  was  heard  a  manly  shout : 


62  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL. DAY, 

"  Disabled  in  the  service, 

And  awaits  his  muster-out!" 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers  ; 

A  few  more  flying  years, 
And  roses  will  be  blooming 

Above  your  lowly  biers ; 
The  roses  and  the  ivy 

And  the  lonely  myrtle  climb 
Above  the  sleeping  millions 

Plumed  and  knighted  in  their  time. 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  old  soldiers, 

And  fight  your  battles  o'er, 
Until  above  the  last  low  bier 

The  wings  of  Freedom  soar  , 
Stand  hand  to  hand  and  heart  to  heart, 

In  Fame's  eternal  care, 
Until  the  great  Reunion 

Unites  you  over  there. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  63 


THE   NATION'S   MEMORIAL. 

THE  lowing  cattle  leave  their  stalls,  the  lambs  bleat 

in  the  wold  ; 
The  poplars  don  their  tasseled   caps  with  tips  of 

burnished  gold  ; 
The  children  in  the  streets  are  glad,  and  speed  the 

hoop  and  ball, 
Ne'er  dreaming  that  a  fear  or  foe  could  ever  on 

them  fall. 

The  hum  of  busy  wheels  is  heard,  the  click  of  loom 
and  press  ; 

The  clearing  axe  resounds  along  the  opening  wil- 
derness ; 

The  air  is  filled  with  screaming  birds  that  go  from 
gulf  to  lake  ; 

And  Spring  in  all  the  Northern  vales  is  calling  : 
"  Rise  !  Awake  !  " 

The  mother  sits  beside  her  son  and  marks  his  eager 
joy 


64  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

In  reading  how  from  Ghent  to  Aix  rode  the  brave 
Flemish  boy  ; 

How  one  by  one  the  Old  Guard  fell,  pierced  through 
at  Waterloo, 

With  England's  flaunting  flag  of  truce  full  flutter- 
ing to  their  view. 

She  sees  him  take  his  father's  sword  he  wore  at 

Monterey, 
When  wounded  in  his  good  right  arm,  among  the 

dead  he  lay  ; 
She  notes  the  hot  blood  flush  his  cheek,  the  glitter 

in  his  eye, 
And  says,  "  Thank  God,  no  duty  calls  my  boy  to 

bleed  or  die  !  " 

But  hark  !  from  out  the  South  there  come  such 
strange  and  sudden  cries 

That  every  lad  flings  down  his  bat  and  stands  with 
frightened  eyes  ; 

The  mills  are  hushed  ;  the  presses  groan  ;  the  ham- 
mers silent  fall ; 

And  fear  on  all  the  anxious  streets  has  settled  like 
a  pall. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  65 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arms  !  it  comes,  as  when 
some  muttering  storm 

Along  the  threatened  vales  sends  first  its  sullen 
slow  alarm  ; 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arms  !  it  swells,  as  when  the 
thunders  crash 

Among  the  swaying  tree-tops  where  the  lurid  light- 
nings flash. 

"  God  keep  my  boy  !  "  the  mother  says,  and  straps 

his  knapsack  down, 
And  sets  the  drooping  cap  of  blue  upon  his  golden 

crown  ; 
"God  keep  my  boy  !  "  and  by  his  side  she  proudly 

follows  on, 
Nor  fails  nor  faints,  till  out  of  sight  the  volunteers 

have  gone. 

Behold  a  mighty  angel,  sifting,  sifting  as  he  flies  ! 
The  Nation  'tis  he  sifteth  !  and  behold  before  him 

rise 

Heroic  men  and  women,  whose  consecrated  prayers 
Bring   down   the   heights   of  victory  like  links  of 

golden  stairs. 
5 


66  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

March  on  !  march  on  !  the  blazing  towns  are  telling 
where  they  halt  ! 

March  on!  march  on!  the  heath  their  bed,  their 
shelter  heaven's  vault  ! 

March  on  !  while  yet  one  foe  remains  to  lift  an  impi- 
ous hand 

And  tear  the  flag  of  Freedom  from  one  cabin  in  the 
land  ! 

Now  with  the  corps  of  pioneers,  the  troops  a  road 

to  hew, 
Now  leading  on  the   skirmish   line,  the  enemy  in 

view; 
Now  scaling  up  the  mountain's  peak  the  foot  of 

man  ne'er  trod, 
The  soldiers  of  the  Union  wage  the  battles  blest 

of  God. 

Whiz,  whiz,  the  flying  minie-balls  like  leaden  rain 

sweep  on  ; 
Crash,  crash,  the   rattling  musketry,  and  rank  by 

rank  is  gone  ; 
Roar,  roar,  the  cannon  thunders,  and  the  air  is  black 

as  night  ; 
And  upward  with  the  billows  float  our  heroes  souls 

from  sight. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  67 

"  Come  hither  now,  my  Captain,  and  tell,  and  tell 

me  true, 
Where  is  my  boy,  my  brave,  good  boy,  who  marched 

away  with  you  ? 
O  speak,  that  I  may  find  him,  that  upon  his  mother's 

breast 
He  may  in  all  his  agony  one  little  moment  rest. 

"  I've  brought   him,    see,   some   simple   things   he 

always  liked  at  home, 
Some  grapes  from  our  own  garden  —  he  will  smile 

to  see  me  come  ! 
Lead  on — the  moments  hasten,  and  I  must  be  with 

my  boy  ! 
Dead,  dead,  your  face  makes  answer  !     Christ  be 

pitiful  !"....  Deploy 

Ye  soldiers,  for  the  battle  !     Marshal,  march  in  all 

your  pride, 
But,  behold,  a  spirit  walketh  close  by  every  soldier's 

side  ; 
And  above  the  paeans  rising  float  the  murmurs  of 

the  dirge, 
As  the  moaning  of  the  ocean  drowns  the  clamor  of 

the  surge. 


68  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Oh,  ye  cannot  by  your  marching  give  the  mother 

back  her  son, 
Give  the  maiden  back  her  lover,  give  the  wife  her 

dearest  one  ; 
Give  the  little  children  calling,  when  the  evening 

draws  apace, 
"  Papa,    papa  !      Come    home,   papa  !  "   one   more 

glimpse  of  his  dead  face. 

But  ye  may  rebuild   the  altars  the  despoiler  has 

defiled, 
And  ye  may  restrain  the  sacrifice  to  idol  fierce  and 

wild  ; 
And,  as  from  Sinai's  holy  height,  announce  the  new 

command  : 
"  Victoria,  Victoria  !  Freedom  shall  rule  the  land  !  " 

Now  banners  wave,  and  bugles  blow,  and  woods 

with  song  be  glad  ! 
The  house-tops  throng  with  people,  and  the  streets 

with  joy  run  mad  ! 
The  cheers  of  Boston  proudly  up  to  Bunker  Hill 

arise, 
And  westward  roll  and  mingle  as  the  Golden  Gate 

replies  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  69 

Bring  out  the  gray-haired  veterans  of  Harrison  and 

Clay, 
And  let  them  swing  their  hats  once  more  on  this 

eventful  day  ! 
Bring  out  the  Buena  Vista  guards  who  stood  by 

Taylor  well, 
And  let  them  with  their  gallant  cheers  the  shouts  of 

triumph  swell  ! 

Bring  out  the  little  children,  clad  in  fleecy  robes  of 

white, 
To  shout,  with  all  their  happy  souls,  their  wild  and 

glad  delight  ! 
And  don't  forget  a  place  for  those  whose  mute  lips 

make  no  sign,  — 
Joy's  sable  guests  of   sorrow,  moving   slowly  into 

line  ! 

Time  may  fill  all  the  furrows  the  cannon-balls  have 
plowed  ; 

May  set  the  robins  singing  where  the  bullets  whistled 
loud  ; 

Time  may  the  passion-flower  twine  o'er  rude  and 
ragged  grave, 

The  poppy's  flaunting  pennons  from  the  prison  bur- 
rows wave  ; 


70  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Time  may  set  sirens  singing  where  the  good  old  ship 

sails  true, — 
But  their  voices  wake  no  echo  in  the  bosoms  of  the 

crew  ; 
Our  hearts  but  beat  the  truer  for  the  terrors  we 

have  past, 
And  the  prophecies  of  ages  live  a  verity  at  last. 

Bend  soft,  O  skies,  above  the  graves  our  fallen 
heroes  fill, 

In  far  Potomac  marshes,  on  the  heights  of  Georgia 
hill, 

Where  the  blue  Virginia  mountains  in  their  lonely 
grandeur  frown, 

Where  the  tide  of  Chickamauga  flows  by  fort- 
invested  town  ! 

Blow  soft,  O  winds,  around  them  with  your  freighted 

sweets  and  balm, 
And  the  rhythm  of  your  numbers  flowing  into  song 

and  psalm  ! 
Say  the  Nation's  heart  is  keeping,  in  its  silent  deeps 

aglow, 
All  the  sacred  recollections  treasured  in  the  long 

ago  ! 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  7 1 

Smile  soft,  O  flowers,  bending  low,  like  friends  with 
saddened  eyes, 

Moist  with  the  dear  remembrances  of  saintly  sac- 
rifice ! 

Rise,  gracious  lily  !  Multiply,  O  rose,  in  regal 
pride  ! 

Fit  emblems  of  the  loyal  ones  who  lived,  and  loved, 
and  died  ! 

And  thou,  O  flag  of  Freedom,  fan  their  slumbers 

where  they  lie  ! 
At  morning  toss  and  flutter,  and  at  midnight  float 

and  fly  ! 
Keep  guard  o'er  all  thy  children  as  upon  the  walls 

they  stood, 
Baptising  for  futurity  thy  folds  in  crimson  blood  ! 

Float  on  above  the  living  ;  float  on  above  the  dead  ! 
While  a  hope  awaits  fruition,  while  a  prayer  remains 

unsaid  ! 
This  motto  on  thy  bosom  bear  to  earth's  remotest 

parts  : 
God  keep  the  Union  !      Give  to  all  our  people  loyal 

hearts  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


SONS   OF  VETERANS. 

MUSTER  the  brave  boys  in  ! 
Not  for  the  clash  of  arms, 
Not  for  the  fierce  alarms, 
Not  for  the  sword  and  the  flame  ! 
In  the  might  of  a  Nation's  name, 
Muster  them  in  ! 

Muster  the  brave  boys  in  ! 
Not  for  the  reddening  strife, 
Not  for  "  a  life  for  a  life," 
For  the  flight  of-  furious  steeds  ! 
In  the  calm  of  a  Nation's  needs, 
Muster  them  in  ! 

Muster  the  brave  boys  in  ! 
Not  for  the  gay  parade, 
Not  for  the  reckless  raid, 
For  the  battles  that  rend  the  land ! 
In  the  love  of  a  Nation's  hand, 
Muster  them  in! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  73 

Muster  the  brave  boys  in ! 
Not  for  the  smiting  scourge, 
Not  for  the  awful  dirge, — 
For  the  graces  that  peace  shall  shed 
Over  a  Nation's  head, 
Muster  them  in  ! 

Muster  the  brave  boys  in  . 
To  stay  the  steps  that  are  slow, 
To  lift  the  hearts  that  are  low, 
To  stand  as  a  guard  of  might 
In  the  Nation's  light,  or  night, 
Muster  them  in  ! 

Muster  the  brave  boys  in  ! 
That  the  vows  may  be  passed  along 
That  their  fathers  have  kept  and  are  strong, 
In  the  hope  of  a  happier  day 
In  the  Nation's  heart  for  aye, — 
Muster  them  in  ! 


74  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


DEAD  ON  THE  BORDER. 

YOUR  soldier  boy  is  gone  ? 
How  fell  he,  comrade  ?  In  the  van 
Where  Death  struck  swift  from  man  to  man? 
Oh,  aye,  I  know  he  fell 
Where  the  red  raiders  yell ; 

Our  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 

Your  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 
It  was  but  yesterday  he  went 
A  lad  with  your  old  regiment, 
Over  the  West  Virginia  hills, 
Stout-hearted  to  the  bugle  trills  ! 

Our  brave  old  boy  is  gone  ! 

Your  soldier  boy  has  gone  ! 
But  yesterday,  I  said,  and  yet 
A  dozen  harvest  moons  have  set 
Since  on  his  shoulders  shone  the  bars  ! 
A  valiant  soul  in  valiant  wars, 

Our  brave  good  boy  has  gone. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS. 


Your  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 
O  pallid  face  !  O  cold,  still  heart  ! 
O  sweet  veiled  eyes  whence  no  smiles  start ! 
O  stricken  sword-arm  !  Hear  our  prayer, 
And  answer  if  ye  loved  him,  where 

Our  soldier  boy  is  gone  ? 

Your  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 
And  what  is  left  but  sobs  and  tears, 
But  aching  hearts  and  broken  years  ? 
Ah,  God,  have  pity !  in  thine  eye 
We  are  but  babes  that  moan  and  cry  ! 

Our  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 

Your  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 
And  nothing  left  but  sobs  and  tears  ? 
Aye,  memories  of  golden  years, — 
Fame,  honor,  manhood's  royal  meed 
Of  generous  aim  and  glorious  deed  ! 

Our  soldier  is  not  gone  ! 

Your  soldier  boy  is  gone  ! 
Aye,  risen  to  heights  sublimer  far 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


Than  any  known  to  mortal  are  ! 
For,  lo  !  that  life  is  deemed  most  blest 
That  serves  its  God  and  country  best  ! 
Our  soldier  is  not  gone  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  77 


HAIL   TO    THE    FLAG. 

RUMBLING,  and  rolling-,  and  rocking,  the  battle  swept 

up  from  the  valley, 
Laid  its  red  hand  on  the  harvest,  its  torch  at  the 

heart  of  the  hearthstone  ; 
Laid  its  hot  breath  on  the  village,  that  shivered  and 

shrank  at  its  coming  ; 
Snapped   like  a  forest   of   firs   beneath   the   sharp 

strokes  of  the  tempest. 

Up  from  the  hush  of  the  hamlet  came  the  low  cries 

of  the  women, 
Down  from  the  whirl  of  the  city,  the  wail  of  the 

fatherless  children, 
Mingling  and  making  their  moan  in  the  lap  of  a 

desolate  sorrow, — 
The  dirge  and  the  funeral  moan  of  a  widowed  and 

comfortless  sorrow. 

Day  is  as  night,  and  the  night  is  a  sweeping  and 
swift  desolation, 


78  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

The  hurricane  chained  to  its  breast,  and  the  curse 

of  the  scourge  in  its  footsteps  ; 
Heaping  its  dead  in  the  trenches,  with  glitter  of 

steel,  and  the  bayonet 
Red  like  the  Golgotha  spear  dipped  in  the  blood  of 

the  innocent. 

Ever  the  long-roll  is  heard,  the  marching  of  men  to 

the  slaughter, 
The  scream  of  the  bugles  like  eagles  that  flap  their 

broad  wings  to  the  thunder  ; 
Mingling  their  din  with  the  shriek  of  the  shell  and 

the  crash  of  the  cannon, 
And  the  shock  of  the  lines  as  they  kneel  in  solid 

platoons  to  the  volley. 

"  Stand  to  your  guns  !  "    And  there  came  the  rush 

and  the  crush  of  the  whirlwind  ; 
Headless  and  trunkless  they  fell,  the  royal  old  oaks 

of  the  forest, — 
The  men  with  the  sinews  of  strength  and  the  pride 

of  the  oak-knotted  forest, 
Lay  with  their  lips  to  the  dust,  and  as  dust  the  rent 

reins  of  their  valor. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  79 

Lay  with  their  lips  to  the  sod  and  their  hearts  to  the 
ribbed  rocks  as  pulseless, 

And  the  sobs  of  the  ridges  gave  back  the  cries  of 
their  soul  in  the  conflict ; 

The  cry  of  the  mighty  struck  dumb  with  their  eyes 
on  the  goal  of  the  victor, 

The  waving  of  palms  and  the  plumes,  and  the  wel- 
come acclaim  to  the  victor. 

Brothers  they  knelt  in  the  ranks,  with  faces  hard- 
set  for  the  battle, 

And  eyes  that  were  eyes  that  beheld  the  march  of 
the  gods  in  the  war-dust, 

The  shimmer  of  shields  and  the  plumes  and  the 
stride  of  the  gods  in  the  war-dust  ; 

And  the  yawning  wide  earth  at  their  feet  with  the 
rumble  of  hell  in  its  bosom. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  knelt  in  the  glow  and  the 

glare  of  the  carnage, — 
The  red  reeling  whirl  and  the  dance  of  the  harpies 

that  gloat  on  the  carnage  ; 
Stifled  their  souls  in  the  heat  and  the  thick  blinding 

smoke  of  the  carnage, 
The  black-draught  absinthe  of  hate  drunk  deep  in 

the  wrath  of  the  carnage. 


8o  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

Sighted  their  guns  in  the  flash  of  the  bursting  of 
shell  and  the  glamour 

Of  mad  conflagration  pent  up  in  the  mountain- 
locked  depths  of  the  forest  ; 

Sighted  their  guns  as  they  lay  with  their  hearts  to 
the  hearts  of  their  comrades, 

The  long  abatis  of  the  dead  thrown  up  at  the  feet 
of  the  living. 

God !   how  that  terrible  struggle  is  branded  and 

burnt  in  my  being, 
Seared  to  my  soul  in  the  furnace  of  fiery  and  fierce 

tribulation  ! 
Waking  or  sleeping,  they  rise  and  look  in  my  eyes 

and  confront  me, 
Look  in  my  eyes  with  the  eyes  of  the  slain  in  the 

smoke  of  the  battle. 

Twain  in  the  ranks  they  were  mine,  my  foster  sons 

born  for  the  battle, 
Stalwart  of  limb  and  of  courage  drawn  from  a  long 

generation  ; 
A  royal   long  lineage  of  men  that  fought  on  the 

moor  and  the  mountain, 
And  planted  the  ensigns  of  Freedom  high  on  the 

bulwarks  of  nations. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  8l 

"  Captain,"  he  said,  as  he  came,  with  one  on  each 

arm  to  the  muster, 
"  Captain,  we've  talked  it  all  over — I,  and  the  boys, 

and  their  mother  ; 
And  little  we  deem  it  of  worth  that  we  shrink  when 

the  need  is  supremest  ; 
Take  them,  and  God  help  you,  Captain,  to  make 

them  half  worthy  their  country." 

Side  by  side  in  the  ranks,  in  the  camp,  in  the  march, 

in  the  battle, 
Side  by  side,  my  brave  boys, — never  a  sigh  nor  a 

murmur ; 
Deeming  it  honor  to  share  the  siege  and  the  thirst 

and  the  hunger, 
Deeming  it  honor,  while  forward  beckoned  the  flag 

of  the  Union. 

Death  to  the  right  and  the  left,  ghostly  and  ghastly 
and  gory, 

Death  in  the  sod  at  their  feet,  making  its  bitter  com- 
plaining, 

Death  in  the  voice  of  the  tempest,  death  in  the  gasp 
of  a  prayer, 
6 


82  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL  DAY, 

Death  —  it  is  death  but  to  speak,  in  the  flight  of  a 
thought  it  is  hidden. 

Keen  as  the  lightning's  breath  the  bullet  has  sped 

on  its  mission  ; 
Forward  the  ranks  are  swept  down,  forward  they 

spring  to  the  breaches  ; 
And  ever  the  crash  and  the  crush  of  the  tempest  of 

fire,  and  the  horror, 
And  ever  the  stretcher  gives  back  the  dust  to  the 

earth  that  has  given. 

Side  by  side,  my  brave  boys,  my  foster  sons  bred 

for  the  battle, 
Side  by  side  in  the  smoke  and  the  fire  and  the  fierce 

tribulation  ; 
Side  by  side  with  the  seal  of  the  angel  of  peace  on 

their  bosom, 
Under  the  rudely-turned  sod  waiting  the  dawn  of 

fruition. 

Waiting  the  dawn  of  a  day  sweet  as  the  birth  of  a 

summer, 
When  like  a  bow  in  the  clouds  Union  should  span 

the  Republic  ; 


AND    OTHER   POEMS.  83 

Flinging  its  halo  of  suns  over  the   frosts  of  the 

Northland, 
Flinging  its   halo  of  stars  over  the  dews  of  the 

Southland. 

Show  me  the  men  in  the  ranks,  I  will  show  you  the 
might  of  the  Nation  ! 

Crown  them  with  laurels  and  love  the  battle-scarred 
sons  of  our  peril  ! 

Sacred  the  hills  where  they  lie,  the  plains  that 
received  their  baptismal, 

Bright  as  the  pathway  of  souls  threading  the  arch- 
way of  heaven. 

Would  they  might  rise  from  the  ranks,  cordon  the 
hills,  and  confront  us, 

Lay  their  dead  hands  in  our  hands,  awed  in  the 
silver-tongued  silence, 

Under  the  pinions  of  peace,  under  the  whispers  of 
promise, 

Calmly  with  eye  unto  eye  sharing  the  sweet  bene- 
diction. 

What  would  they  say,  could  they  rise,  look  in  our 
eyes  and  salute  us  ? — 


84  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

"Men  of  the  North  and  the  South,  nurtured  in  Lib- 
erty's cradle, 

Call  it  not  vain  that  we  fell  bearing  the  ensigns  of 
Union 

High  on  the  summits  of  fame,  far  on  the  outposts  of 
Freedom. 

"Men  of  the  North  and  the  South,  mighty  in  pride  and 

in  valor, 
Fair  are  the  banners  of  Peace,  brave  is  the  service  she 

offers  ; 
Broad  are  her  fleets,  and  her  sails  lead  to  wide  havens 

of  conquest. 
Proud  are  the  forts  that  she  storms,  guarding  the  mints 

of  the  mountains. 

"Men  of  the  North  and  the  South,  bitter  the  fountains 

of  faction, 
Eschol  has  grapes  that  are  sweet,  valleys  of  milk  and 

of  honey; 
Turn  from  your  idols,  and  forth,  mount  to  the  hills 

and  possess  them, 
Fashion  your  temples  of  Peace,  tribe  unto  tribe  adding 

tribute 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  85 

"Liberty  calls  from  her  heights  :  'Give  me  brave  men 
for  my  service, 

Men  who  can  wrestle  with  wrong,  armed  with  the 
armor  of  honor; 

Men  who  can  stand  with  bared  brows  under  the  splen- 
dors of  heaven, 

When  the  swift  lightnings  of  wrath  flash  where  the 
storm-cloud  is  riven.'  " 

Lead  us,  O  Liberty,  lead,  under  the  zenith  of  Hope, 
Under  the  banners  of  Peace,  tossing  their  fluttering 
folds  ; 

Under  the  shade  and  the  sun, 
Blending  their  colors  in  one  ; 
Red,  White,  and  Blue, 
Blue,  White,  and  Red, 

Under  the  banners  that  float  over  our  garlanded 
dead. 

Lead  us,  O  Liberty,  lead,  forth  to  a  holier  day, 
Glad  with  the  cymbals  of  joy,  great  with  the  glory 
to  be  ; 

Forth  in  the  pride  of  our  might, 
Forth  in  the  might  of  the  right ; 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


Red,  White,  and  Blue, 
Blue,  White,  and  Red, 

Under  whose  folds  we  have  fought,  under  whose 
stars  we  have  bled. 

Lead   us,   O   Liberty,   lead  !     Happy  who   follow 

anear, 

Not  as  the  conscripted  go,  not  as  the  slave  to  his 
chain,  — 

Strong  in  the  sonship  of  love, 
Strong  in  the  grace  from  above  ; 
Red,  White,  and  Blue, 
Blue,  White,  and  Red, 

Emblem  of  happier  hope,  brothers  to  brotherhood 
wed. 

Lead  us,  O  Liberty,   lead,   ready  and   steady  we 

come, 

Elbow  to  elbow  we  march,  timing  our  steps  to  the 
call; 

Up  from  the  ban  and  the  blight, 
Up  to  the  summits  of  light; 
Red,  White,  and  Blue, 
Blue,  White,  and  Red, 

Conflict  and  carnage  behind,  glory  and  grandeur 
ahead. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  87 

Lead  us,  O  Liberty,  lead,  every  star  in  its  place, 
Every  fold  of  the  dear  old  flag  burning  and  bla- 
zoned with  love  ; 

Below  is  the  chastening  rod, 
Above  is  the  glory  of  God  ; 
Blue,  White,  and  Red, 
Red,  White,  and  Blue, 

Flag  of  our  fathers,  thrice  hail !     Hail  to  the  Red, 
White,  and  Blue  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


FOR   HIS   DEAR  SAKE. 

I  HAVE  gathered  the  dewy  roses, 

The  lily  and  columbine, 
The  ivy,  and  iris,  and  myrtle, 

And  pale  sweet  jessamine  ; 
And  out  where  some  brave  heart  is  lying 

In  an  unmarked  lonely  place, 
For  his  dear,  dear  sake,  I  will  strew  them, 

Who  slumbers  at  Rocky  Face. 

I  woke  when  the  odorous  morning 

Came  royally  from  the  gloom, 
And  I  wept  as  my  gay  companions 

Went  culling  from  bloom  to  bloom ; 
Ah,  little  they  know  of  the  sighing, 

And  little  of  all  the  tears 
That  stifle  the  heart  that  is  asking 

The  loves  of  its  happy  years  ! 

And  I  thought  of  the  last  fond  message 
He  sent  in  his  hopeful  way : 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


'  But  one  little  week,  and  I'm  coming, 

My  Queen  of  the  joyous  May." 
Now  out  in  the  wilds  he  is  sleeping, 
The  where  I  may  never  see. 

0  May  of  the  Mays  !  — the  gladdest 
And  saddest  of  all  to  me  ! 

1  know  not  where  they  have  laid  him, 
My  gallant,  my  brave,  my  own, — 

Out,  out  where  the  wild  fern  is  growing, 
And  the  pines  through  the  long  years  moan  ; 

And  erst  when  the  dead  they  have  honored 
With  flowers  and  praiseful  song, 

I  have  lain  in  my  darkened  chamber 
And  murmured  the  whole  day  long. 

But  now  I  have  gathered  the  flowers ; 

And  out  where  the  lonely  dove 
Is  making  lament  I  will  strew  them 

O'er  some  other  woman's   love  ; 
And  may  be  in  days  that  are  coming, 

With  sorrow  her  sweet  eyes  dim, 
Some  other  sad  one  will  be  strewing 

May's  beauteous  blossoms  o'er  him. 


9°  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


THE   DRUMMER   BOY   OF   MISSION 
RIDGE. 

{Incident  inthe  life  of  JOHN  S.KOUNTZ,  Commander-in-Chief,  G.A.K.] 

DID  ever  you  hear  of  the  Drummer  Boy  of  Mission 

Ridge,  who  lay 
With  his  face  to  the  foe,  'neath  the  enemy's  guns,  in 

the  charge  of  that  terrible,  day  ? 
They  were  firing  above  him  and  firing  below,  and 

the  tempest  of  shot  and  shell 
Was  raging  like  death  as  he  moaned  in  his  pain,  by 

the  breastworks  where  he  fell. 

We  had  burnished  our  muskets  and  filled  our  can- 
teens, as  we  waited  for  orders  that  morn, — 

Who  knows  when  the  soldier  is  dying  of  thirst  where 
the  wounded  are  wailing  forlorn  ?  — 

When  forth  from  the  squad  that  was  ordered  back 
from  the  flash  of  that  furious  fire 

Our  Drummer  Boy  came,  and  his  face  was  aflame 
with  the  light  of  a  noble  desire. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  91 

"  Go  back  with  your  corps  !"  our  Colonel  had  said, 

but  he  waited  the  moment  when 
He  might  follow  the  ranks  and  shoulder  a  gun  with 

the  best  of  us  bearded  men  ; 
And  so  when  the  signals  from  old  Fort  Wood  set  an 

army  of  veterans  wild, 
He  flung  down  his  drum  which  spun  down  the  hill 

like  the  ball  of  a  wayward  child. 

And  so  he  fell  in  with  the  foremost  ranks  of  brave 

old  Company  G, 
As  we  charged  by  the  flank,  with  our  colors  ahead, 

and  our  columns  closed  up  like  a  V, 
In  the  long  swinging  lines  of  that  splendid  advance, 

when  the  flags  of  our  corps  floated  out 
Like  the  ribbons  that  dance  in  the  jubilant  lines  of 

the  march  of  a  gala  day  rout. 

He  charged  with  the  ranks,  though  he  carried  no 

gun,  for  the  Colonel  had  said  him  nay, 
And  he  breasted  the  blast  of  the  bristling  guns  and 

the  shock  of  the  sickening  fray  ; 
And  when  by  his  side  they  were  falling  like  hail,  he 

sprang  to  a  comrade  slain, 
And  shouldered  his  musket  and  bore  it  as  true  as 

the  hand  that  was  dead  to  pain. 


92  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

"Twas  dearly  we  loved  him,  our  Drummer  Boy,  with 

a  fire  in  his  bright  black  eye, 
That  flashed  forth  a  spirit  too  great  for  his  form, — 

he  only  was  just  so  high, 
As   tall   perhaps   as   your   little   lad   who  scarcely 

reaches  your  shoulder, 
Though  his  heart  was  the  heart  of  a  veteran  then,  a 

trifle,  it  may  be,  the  bolder. 

He  pressed  to  the  front,  our  lad  so  leal,  and   the 

works  were  almost  won  ; 
A  moment  more,  and  our  flags  had  swung  o'er  the 

muzzle  of  murderous  gun  ; 
But  a  raking  fire  swept  the  van,  and  he  fell  'mid  the 

wounded  and  the  slain, 
With  his  wee  wan  face  turned  up  to  Him  who  feeleth 

His  children's  pain. 

Again  and  again  our  lines  fell  back,  and  again  with 

shivering  shocks 
They  flung  themselves  on  the  Rebel  works  as  the 

fleets  on  the  jagged  rocks  ; 
To  be  crushed  and  broken  and  scattered  amain,  as 

the  wrecks  of  the  surging  storm, 
Where  none  may  rue  and  none  may  reck  of  aught 

that  has  human  form. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  93 

So  under  the  Ridge  we  were  flying  for  the  order  to 

charge  again, 
And   we  counted   our   comrades   missing   and  we 

counted  our  comrades  slain  ; 
And   one   said,  "  Johnnie,    our    Drummer   Boy,  is 

grievously  shot,  and  lies  ' 
Just  under  the  enemy's  breastworks  ;  if  left  on  the 

field  he  dies." 

Then  all  the  blood  that  was  in  me  surged  up  to  my 

aching  brow, 
And  my  heart  leaped  up  like  a  ball  in  my  throat,  I 

can  feel  it  even  now, 
And  I  swore  I  would  bring  that  boy  from  the  field 

if  God  would  spare  my  breath, 
If  all  the  guns  on  Mission  Ridge  should  thunder  the 

threat  of  death. 

I  crept  and   crept  up  the    ghastly  Ridge,  by  the 

wounded  and  the  dead, 
With   the   moans  of   my  comrades  right  and  left, 

behind  me  and  yet  ahead, 
Till  I  came  to  the  form  of  our  Drummer  Boy,  in 

his  blouse  of  dusty  blue, 
With  his  face  to  the  foe,  'neath  the  enemy's  guns, 

where  the  blast  of  the  battle  blew, 


94  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

And  his  gaze  as  he  met  my  own,  God  wot,  would 

have  melted  a  heart  of  stone, 
As  he  tried  like  a  wounded  bird  to  rise,  and  placed 

his  hand  in  my  own  ; 
So  wan  and  faint,  with  his  ruby  red  blood  drank 

deep  by  the  pitiless  sward, 
While  his  breast  with  its  fleeting,  fluttering  breath 

throbbed  painfully  slow  and  hard. 

And  he  said  in  a  voice  half  smothered,  though  its 

whispering  thrills  me  yet, 
"  I  think  in  a  moment  more  that  I  would  have  stood 

on  that  parapet, 
For  my  feet  have  trodden  life's  rugged  ways,  and  I 

have  been  used  to  climb 
Where  some  of  the  boys  have  slipped  I  know,  but  I 

never  missed  a  time. 

"But  now  I  nevermore  will  climb;  and,  comrade, 

when  you  see 
The  men  go  up  those  breastworks  there,  just  stoop 

and  waken  me  ; 
For  though  I  cannot  make  the  charge  and  join  the 

cheers  that  rise, 
I  may  forget  my  pain  to  see  the  old  flag  kiss  the 

skies." 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  95 

Well,  it  was  hard  to  treat  him  so,  his  poor  limb 

shattered  sore, 
But  I  raised  him  to  my  shoulder  and  to  the  Surgeon 

bore, 
And  the  boys  who  saw  us  coming  each  gave  a  shout 

of  joy, 
Though  some  in  curses  clothed  their  prayers,  for 

him,  our  Drummer  Boy. 

When  sped  the  news  that  "  Fighting  Joe  "  had  saved 

the  Union  right 
With   his   legions   fresh   from    Lookout,    and   that 

Thomas  massed  his  might 
And  forced  the  Rebel  center,  and  our  cheering  ran 

like  wild, 
And  Sherman's  heart  was  happy  as  the  heart  of  a 

little  child, — 

When  Grant  from  his  lofty  outlook  saw  our  flags  by 

the  hundred  fly 
Along  the  slopes  of  Mission  Ridge,  where'er  he  cast 

his  eye, 
And  our  Drummer  Boy  heard  the  news  and  knew 

the  mighty  battle  done, 
The  valiant  contest  ended,  and  the  glorious  victory 

won. — 


96  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY. 

Then  he  smiled  in  all  his  agony  beneath  the  Sur- 
geon's steel, 

And  joyed  that  his  the  blood  to  flow  his  country's 
woes  to  heal  ; 

And  his  bright,  black  eyes  so  yearning,  grew 
strangely  glad  and  wide  ; 

I  think  that  in  that  hour  of  joy  he  gladly  would 
have  died. 

Ah,  ne'er  again  our  ranks  were  cheered  by  our  little 

Drummer's  drum, 
When  rub,  rub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  we   knew  that  our 

hour  had  come ; 
Beat  brisk  at  morn,  beat  sharp  at  eve,  rolled  long 

when  it  called  to  arms, 
With    rub,  rub,  rub-a-dub  dub,  'mid  the  clamor  of 

rude  alarms  ! 

Ah,  ne'er  again  our  black-eyed  boy  looked  up  in  the 

veteran's  face, 
To  waken  thoughts  of  his  children  safe  in  mother 

love's  embrace  ! 
O  ne'er  again  with  tripping  feet  he  ran  with  the 

other  boys, — 
His  budding  hopes  were  cast  away  as  they  were  idle 

toys. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  97 

But  ever  in  our  hearts  he  dwells,  with  a  grace  that 

never  is  old, 
For  him  the  heart  to  duty  wed  can  nevermore  grow 

cold  ! 
His  heart  the  hero's  heart  we  name,  the  loyal,  true, 

and  brave, 
The  heart  of  the  soldier  hoar  and  gray,  of  the  lad 

in  his  Southern  grave  ! 

And  when  they  tell  of  their  heroes,  and  the  laurels 

they  have  won, 
Of  the  scars  they  are  doomed  to  carry,  of  the  deeds 

that  they  have  done, — 
Of  the   horror  to  be   biding   among   the    ghastly 

dead, 
The  gory  sod  beneath  them,  the  bursting  shell  o'er- 

head,— 

My  heart  goes  back  to  Mission  Ridge   and   the 

Drummer  boy  who  lay 
With  his  face  to  the  foe  'neath  the  enemy's  guns  in 

the  charge  of  that  terrible  day  ; 
And  I  say  that    the  land  that  bears  such  sons  is 

crowned  and  dowered  with  all 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


The  dear  God  giveth  nations  to  stay  them  lest  they 
fall 

O   glory  of  Mission   Ridge  !   stream  on,  like  the 

roseate  light  of  morn, 
On  the  sons  that  now  are  living,  on  the  sons  that 

are  yet  unborn  ! 
And  cheers  for  our  comrades  living,  and  tears  as 

they  pass  away,  — 
And  three  times  three  for  the  Drummer    Boy  who 

fought  at  the  front  that  day  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  99 


THE   SOLDIER'S   RING. 

"  O  SIR,  the  ring,  the  ring ! 
The  ring  I  gave  you  on  that  field  of  death  ! 
1  lay  half  gasping  for  the  sluggish  breath 
That  came  and  went  and  stayed  so  long  that  I 
Thought  I  should  die  ! 

O  sir,  the  ring,  the  ring  !  " 

The  woman  fronts  me  now, 
Standing  before  me  with  her  great  grave  eyes 
Wherein  some  burnt-out  sorrow  smouldering  lies  ; 
Her  lips  close  pressed  to  force  the  thrusting  pain 
To  rest  again  ; 

Athwart  her  lifted  brow 

The  print  of  scoffings  borne, 

With  thorn-crown  forcing  deadly  drops  ;  her  cheek 
A  storied  page  whereon  the  letters  speak 
Of  tears  that  burn,  and  lips  that  yearn,  and  life 
Seared  in  the  strife 

Where  love,  alas,  lies  lorn. 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


"  O  sir,  the  ring,  the  ring  !  " 
Her  trembling  touch  I  feel,  and  lift  my  hand, 
And  take  therefrom  the  gleaming  beaten  band, 
And  read  thereon  the  letters,  "  C.  E.  D." 
And  seemeth  me 

The  brooding  years  out-wing 

Unto  Antietam's  field  ; 
I  tread  among  the  dead  ;  I  hear  the  groans 
Of  wounded  men  ;  I  hear  the  sighs  and  moans 
Of  homesick  hearts ;  the  plea  of  famished  lips 
E'en  for  a  drop  that  drips 

From  founts  unsealed  ; 

And  as  we  grope  our  way 
With  succor  for  sore  hearts,  we  come  to  where 
Among  our  fallen  comrades,  two  are  there 
With  heart  so  close  to  heart  we  marvel  much 
If  one  fell  touch 

Of  sorrow  did  not  slay  ; 

Full-bearded,  one,  and  brown, 
With  stalwart  limbs  and  chest  upheaved  and  strong, 
We  stoop  to  wake  him.     Ah,  his  sleep  is  long, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


That  long,  long  sleep  that  knows 

Nor  friends  nor  foes  : 
We  put  his  number  down. 

But  this  pale  lad  who  turns 
A  pleading  face  to  meet  the  pitying  eye, — 
Ah,  little  lad,  he  surely  shall  not  die  ! 
Oh,  cheer  thee  now,  thou  yet  shall  see  the  skies 
Where  love-light  lies, 

The  hearth  where  home-light  burns ! 

I  kneel  and  lift  his  hand — 

Poor  hand  that  gives  no  warm  response  to  mine, — 
Poor  shattered  hand  so  maiden-fair  and  fine  ! 
And  then  the  fainting  plea :    "  Please  take  the  ring, 
And  wear  it  till  I  bring 

Words  you  may  understand !  " 

So  with  the  vision  gone, 
And  then,  "  O  woman,  what  was  he  to  thee  ? 
A  brother  may  be,  or  a  lover  ?    See, 
The  ring  I've  worn  these  years,  and  in  his  name 
Whose  heart  aflame 

For  country  led  him  on  !  " 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL.  DAY, 


"  Nay,  brother  he  was  not, 
Nor  lover,  to  whose  thirsting  lips  you  gave 
From  that  canteen  you  brought  to  soothe  and  save! 
'Twas  I,  a  woman,  whom  you  blessed  that  day ! 
'Twas  my  love  lay 

Close  by  as  one  forgot. 

"  Our  wedding-day  was  set, 
And  happy  plans  were  laid  for  happy  days, 
And  love  went  merry  in  a  hundred  ways ; 
When,  one  strange  morning, — I  can  never  tell 
How  it  befell, 

Grief  stuns  me  even  yet, — 

"  He  came  with  hurrying  pace, 
And  flushing  cheek,  and  eye  a-gleam  with  pride, 
And  said,  '  My  darling,  my  long-promised  bride, 
Our  country  now  has  need  of  me,  I  know, 
And  so  I  go!' 

We  stood  there  face  to  face, 

"  And  yet  I  did  not  speak, 
Nor  utter  a  complaint,  nor  breathe  a  sigh. 
Then  came  the  words,  '  God  bless  you,  and  '  Good- 
bye'! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  103 

He  who  was  father,  mother,  friend  in  one, 
Was  gone,  and  there  was  none — 
Alas  for  lives  so  bleak — 

"  To  comfort  or  to  keep. 
As  one  both  blind  and  dumb,  I  stood  apace  ; 
Meseemed  that  some  vast  hand  had  struck  my  face, 
And  seized  me  swiftly  in  its  cruel  grasp  ; 
And  from  its  clasp 

A  thousand  fears  did  leap 

"  And  rend  me  with  fierce  jaws  ; 
And  then  the  sullen  stupor  come  to  lay 
Its  deathly  clutch  upon  me  day  by  day  ; 
And  after  that,  O  joy  !  the  dawn  of  hope 
My  swooning  sense  to  ope 

To  Love's  most  blessed  laws. 

"  To  cut  my  long  brown  hair, 
And  idly  lounge  where  idle  men  were  met 
To  prate  of  battles  won  and  lost ;  to  let 
The  mustering  sergeant  take  my  age  and  name 
And  whence  I  came  ; 

To  lift  my  hand  and  swear ; 


104  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 

"  To  doff  my  borrowed  guise, 
And  don  the  envied  suit  of  loyal  blue  ; 
The  while  they  said  :  '  Poor  boy  !  if  he  but  knew 
What  woes  there  wait  for  those  who  go  to  war, 
Then  were  he  far 

To  venture  in  such  wise,1 — 

"  Thus  sped  the  spell ; 
And  hope  and  I  are  once  more  face  to  face, 
Though  death  and  danger  follow  on  apace  ! 
The  drums  play  up,  the  banners  dance  ahead  ; 
Farewell  to  dread  ; 

Or  life,  or  death,  'tis  well ! 

"  Aye,  and  I  held  my  own, 
And  kept  my  pace  beside  the  best  of  them, 
And  bore  fatigues  as  did  the  rest  of  them  ; 
Nor  shrank  when  '  Forward  '  was  the  call  to  go 
Face  to  face  with  the  foe 

Where  the  long  lines  were  thrown. 

"  When  we  led  the  advance 
At  Antietam  there,  with  the  old  Ninth  Corps, 
I  marched  by  his  side  well  up  to  the  fore  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


Over  the  ford  at  the  old  stone  bridge  there, 

Up  to  the  ridge  there  : 
And,  —  it  falling  by  chance,  — 

"  The  Twenty-eighth  led  the  van, 
And  skirmished  all  night  as  we  lay  there,  — 
As  a  tiger  had  fought  for  his  prey  there  ;  — 
And  so  when  the  battle  was  ended 
In  victory  splendid, 

And  man  called  unto  man, 

"  The  voice  of  him,  my  own, 
Made  no  response  unto  my  bitter  cry. 
'  O  love,'  I  said,  '  thou  shalt  not  surely  die  !  ' 
But  love  was  fled  and  troth  was  dead  and  he 
Came  not  to  me  ! 

Yet  love  went  not  alone,  — 

"  The  hand  that  bore  the  ring, 
Symbol  of  plighted  faith  and  deathless  vow, 
Lay  ruddy  with  the  seal  of  valor  now, 
And  so  it  was  I  said,  '  I  pray  thee  take, 
E'en  for  Love's  sake, 

This  pledge  whence  visions  spring 


Io6  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

"  '  Of  souls  dissevered  wide, 
Save  for  the  fond  allegiance  that  they  owe 
To  home  and  country,  for  whose  sake  they  know 
Wounds,  prisons,  perils  upon  land  and  sea ; 
The  grinning  mockery 

Of  smitten  hope  and  pride. 

" '  The  exile  from  the  face 
Of  wife,  home,  mother,  aye,  of  all 
The  holy,  happy  names  that  we  do  call 
The  things  which  tell  of  heavy  hearts  grown  light, 
And  days  made  bright 

With  Love's  transforming  grace.'  " 

So  I  gave  back  the  ring  ; 
And  saw  her  sadly,  slowly  turn  away 
Into  wide  streets  where  deepening  shadows  lay, 
Loveless  and  lorn  to  pass  wide  open  hall 
Where  children  call 

Who  know  no  sorrowing  ; 

To  see  the  eager  twain, 
Arm  locked  in  arm,  contented  go 
Into  the  light  and  life  and  warmth  and  glow  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  107 

To  hear  the  voice  of  laughter,  and  the  sound 

Of  mirth  around  ; 
And  yet  above  her  slain 

To  hush  the  love-lorn  cry, 
And  glory  in  the  valor  that  did  go 
Up  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  up  to  the  foe, 
And  would  not  for  its  own  a  portion  take 
E'en  for  Love's  sake, 

When  men  were  called  to  die. 

So  Glory  claims  her  own, — 
Or  be  it  on  the  rueful  field  of  war, 
Or  by  mute  hearths  where  sorrow's  ashes  are  ; 
Where  hearts  are  light  and  hearts  are  leal, 
Amid  the  clash  of  steel, 

Where  black-robed  women  moan  ! 

These  the  Immortals  love  ! 
Theirs  is  the  faith  and  fortitude  that  lead 
To  glorious  sacrifice  and  valiant  deed  ; 
Up  to  the  shining  citadel  of  Fame 
Where  each  heroic  name 

Is  writ  in  blood  above  ! 


lo8  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


AYE,   BRING  THE    FADELESS    EVER- 
GREENS. 

AYE,  bring  the  fadeless  evergreens,  the  laurel  and 

the  bay, 

A  grateful  land  remembers  all  her  promises  to-day ; 
And  hearts  that  gave  their  treasures  up  when  man- 
hood was  the  price 
Now  bring  their  sweetest  offerings  and  bless  the 

sacrifice. 
It   is  no  soulless   pageantry   o'er    half    forgotten 

deeds 
That  draws  from  painted  history  the  spirit  of  its 

meeds  ! 
In  the  pale  and  anxious  faces  that  gather  in  the 

crowd 
Is  found  the  brave  sad  story  of  the  conquest  and 

the  shroud. 

Aye,  bring  the  fadeless  evergreens,  the  laurel  and 
the  bay  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  109 

They  serve  a  nobler  purpose  now  than  under  Ro- 
man sway  ; 

We'll  twine  them  for  our  heroes  with  the  cypress 
and  the  yew, 

And  weave  them  into  garlands  with  the  rosemary 
and  rue. 

The  emblems  of  the  conqueror,  the  emblems  of  the 
dead, 

Shall  rest,  a  silent  homily,  above  each  sleeping 
head; 

While  victory  is  whispering  of  battles  nobly  won, 

And  peace  runs  after  sorrow  with  her  touching, 
tender  tone. 

Aye,  bring  the  queen  of  flowers  —  the  roses  red  and 
white — 

Though  we  name  no  haughty  Lancaster  or  York 
devoted  knight, 

We  sing  of  grander  deeds  to-day,  of  greater  battles 
won, 

Of  freemen  wrapped  in  Freedom's  flag  when  Free- 
dom's work  was  done. 

Aye,  strew  the  dew- wet  roses  —  each  liquid  drop 
a  tear 


no  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

From  eyes  grown  dim  with  weeping  above  the  sol- 
dier's bier, — 

For  as  their  dying  fragrance  fills  all  the  summer 
morn, 

So  from  the  tomb  of  patriots  is  heroism  born. 

Aye,  bring  the  pale  white  flowers,  fresh  and  sweet 

to  look  upon — 
There  are  no  purer  symbols  of  the  noble  spirits 

gone — 
The  fragrance  floating  from  them  comes  to  gladden 

us  to-day, 
Like  memories  of  cherished  friends  forever  passed 

away. 
Aye,  bring  the  stately  flowers — the  haughty  fleur 

de  Us, 

For  never  was  it  emblem  of  a  truer  royalty  ; 
To-day  its  crested  head  above  a  private's  grave 

may  toss, 
And  yet  no  braver  he  who  wore  the  helmet  and  the 

cross. 

Aye,  come  with  flying  banners  and  with  stately  mar- 
tial tread ! 


AND  OTHER   POEMS. 


With  muffled  drums  and  music  gather  'round  the 
honored  dead  ! 

And  thus,  with  bowed  heads  standing,  while  we 
watch  the  maidens  come 

To  strew  our  humble  offerings  on  every  sacred 
tomb — 

And  while  the  fires  of  sorrow  burn  in  many  a  tear- 
less eye, 

And  hearts  less  used  to  grief  bow  down  in  speech- 
less agony  ; — 

Oh,  will  not  then  this  earnest  prayer  arise  to  every 
tongue, 

"  God  give  to  us  such  men  as  these,  whatever  trials 
come ! " 


CAMP-FIRE.    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


THE   BOYS   OF   MICHIGAN. 

I  SING  the  boys  of  Michigan,  the  hardy  Wolverines, 
The  heroes  of  a  hundred  fights,  a  hundred  war-like 

scenes ! 
Full-armed  they  sprang  to  battle  in  the  shock  of 

'sixty-one, 
And  turned  no  more  for  friend  or  foe  till  victory 

was  won. 

To-day  the  forests  echo  as  the  ringing  axes  glide, 
And  the  fisher  shouts  to  fisher  as  they  rock  along 

the  tide  ; 
To-morrow,  as  the  booms  are  swept  adown  the  piney 

streams, 
In  the  bivouac  of  battle  they  dream  the  soldier's 

dreams. 

They  rally  to  the  East  of  us,  they  rally  to  the  West, 
With  the  ribbons  and  the  roses  knotted  on  each 
manly  breast ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  113 

The  ribbons  and  the  roses  that  the  hand  of  love  has 

wrought, 
In  the  splendor  of  the  palace,  in  the  humble  forest 

cot. 

From  the  mountains  of  Virginia  comes  the  neighing 

of  their  steeds, 
And  the  valor  of  the  Union  is  emblazoned  in  their 

deeds  ; 
They  ford  the  blue  Potomac,  they  are  camping  by 

the  James, 
In  the  blood  that  courses  heroes'  veins  they've  writ 

their  honored  names. 

On  the  shining  Shenandoah,  by  the  rippling  Rapi- 
dan, 

In  the  reckless  raid  with  Stoneman,  in  the  shock 
with  Sheridan  ; 

Now  at  Fredericksburg  with  Burnside,  now  at  Get- 
tysburg with  Meade, 

Where  the  hills  of  Pennsylvania  resound  to  valiant 
deed. 

'Twas  but  yesterday  with  Baxter,  volunteers  from 
rear  to  van, 
8 


H4  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

That  across  the  Rappahannock  went  the  Seventh 

Michigan  ; 
On  the  swinging  pontoon  bridges,  to  the  muzzles  of 

the  guns, — 
Hurrah  !   they  sup  in  Fredericksburg,  though  red 

the  river  runs. 

Like  a  meteoric  shower  trailing  through  the  lurid 
night, 

Come  the  troopers  under  Custer,  spurred  and  booted 
for  the  fight  ; 

There  is  crashing  of  the  cannon,  and  the  angry  mus- 
kets slay, 

But  the  trooper's  in  the  saddle  and  the  torch  is  in 
his  way. 

In  the  West  —  God  speed  the  battle  !  —  the  Boys  of 

Michigan 
They  are  leading  on  with  Sherman  and  with  Thomas 

in  the  van  ; 
In  the  hells  that  hem  Atlanta,  in  the  marches  to  the 

sea, 
They  are  shaking  out  the  guidons  that  have  made  a 

Nation  free  ! 


AND   OTHER   TOEMS. 


Cheers  for  the  Boys  of  Michigan  !    Their  work  was 

nobly  done, 
For  Grant's  at  Appomattox  and  the  Rebel  Chief 

out-run  ! 
On  the  heights  of  lofty  Lookout  'tis  their  banner  we 

descry 
Where  the  tempest  of  the  valley  smote  the  tempest 

of  the  sky. 

Tears   for  the  boys  of   Michigan,   where'er  their 

graves  may  be, 
In  the  vales  of  old  Virginia,  on  the  hills  of  Ten- 

nessee ! 
Where  the  path  of  War  lies  beaten  'neath  the  fury 

of  his  wrath, 
Where  the  spectres  of  the  Prison  keep  the  Nation's 

aftermath  ! 

Cheers,  cheers  again,  old  comrades,  brave  sons  of 

Michigan  ! 
God  bless  you  for  the  deeds  you've  done,  God  keep 

you  to  a  man  ! 
And  cheers,  brave  hearts  of  Michigan  !  Aye,  three 

times  three  to-day 
For  that  old  flag  for  which  you  fought  —  our  Na- 

tion's flag  for  aye  ! 


Tl6  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


THE   BLACK   REGIMENT   AT   PORT 
HUDSON. 

"FORWARD,  double-quick,  march!" 
Through  the  smoke  and  the  flame, 
Through  the  cyclone  of  shot  and  of  shell 
Seven  times  down  the  abyss, 
Seven  times  up  to  the  guns, 
Shattered  and  scattered  and  scarred  ; 
The  scourge  at  their  head, 
And  the  scourge  at  their  feet, 
Charged  the  Black  Regiment. 

There  on  the  heights  were  the  guns, — 

The  bloodhounds  of  battle, — 

The  dark  growling  packs  crouching  low, 

To  start  at  a  word  from  the  master, 

And  roar  and  rend  in  the  trail 

Of  reeling  disaster. 

Under  the  guns  is  the  bayou, 

A  marge  of  luxuriant  grasses, — 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  "7 

And  here  are  the  tawny  long  lines, 

Where  the  Orderly  passes ; 

And  their  eyes  are  aflame, 

As  they  charge  and  take  aim, 

Down  where  the  bayou  runs  red 

With  the  blood  of  the  dead  ; 

Where  the  snarer  has  set 

The  lines  of  his  net ; 

And  they  sink  and  they  fall 

Beyond  hope,  beyond  call, — 

The  gallant  Black  Regiment. 

What  did  they  down  in  the  breach, 
Under  the  guns  at  Port  Hudson  ? 
Slaves  that  they  were  and  despised, 
Scorned  of  the  land  and  reviled, — 
Mocked  at,  and  spit  at,  and  spurne'd, — 
Sold  like  an  ox  in  the  shambles, — 
Torn  from  the  breasts  that  would  nurstle, 
Hated  and  hunted  and  hurtled  — 
Who  nerved  their  muscle, 
Who  strung  their  tendons  ? 
Mother  of  freemen,  give  answer ! 

1  Lo,  while  ye  dozed  in  your  tents 
With  the  languorous  air 


Il8  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Blown  soft  from  the  gardens  of  musk 

Caressing  you  there, — 
Your  coraline  lips, 

And  your  long  silken  hair, 
And  the  pink  waxen  tips 

Of  your  fingers  so  fair, — 
They  toiled  and  grew  strong 

In  the  gin  and  the  cane, 
And  their  ebony  thighs, 

And  their  shoulders  strong-knit, 
For  the  Isthmian  prize 

They  were  moulded  and  fit. 
When  they  held  up  bruised  hands 

Mine  hastened  to  heal ; 
When  they  laid  their  lips  close 

To  my  heart  in  the  night, 
I  heard  through  their  tears, 

And  I  taught  them  to  feel 
That  who  conquereth  foes 

He  must  fight, — 
He  must  fight !  " 

"  Forward,  double-quick,  march  !  " 
The  scoff  and  the  jeer 
Are  swift  to  pursue, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


But  the  scoff  and  the  jeer 

No  hero  may  rue. 
So  steady  and  stiil 
They  stride  down  the  hill, 
Till  the  bloodhounds  awake 
On  the  brow  of  the  brake,  — 
There  to  show  their  wide  maws, 
There  to  rend  with  fierce  jaws, 
While  their  clamor  and  blare 
Cleave  the  pestilent  air,  — 
And  they  rock  and  they  reel 
In  the  raging  red  wrath, 
Though  their  hearts  are  as  steel 
There  is  death  in  the  path, 
And  the  knights  of  the  seal, 
They  are  keeping  their  math. 

'  Forward,  double-quick,  march!" 
Though  Nelson  would  stay 
The  long  swinging  lines 
That  are  melting  away, 
In  the  dull,  deadly  glare 
Of  the  war-wasting  air, 
Where  the  sun  smites  the  head, 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL. DAY, 


And  the  earth  snares  the  feet, 
And  the  lines  that  have  led 
Are  the  lines  of  defeat ; 
For  the  road  to  success 
Is  the  road  to  despair, 
And  the  toil  and  the  stress 
Reap  but  bitterness  there. 

"  Still  forward,  and  charge  for  the  guns  !  " 

Said  Cailloux, 

And  his  shattered  sword-arm 
Was  the  guidon  they  knew. 
But  a  fire  rakes  the  flanks 

And  a  fire  rakes  the  van ; 
He  is  down  with  the  ranks 
That  go  down  as  one  man. 

Shake  the  old  colors  out ! 

Planciancois  ahead, — 
Where  he  leads  they  follow, 

Though  the  grave  be  their  bed  ! 
But  the  colors  go  down, 

And  the  color-guard's  slain, — 
They  bend  'neath  the  colors. 

And  forward  again ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


Through  the  shot  and  the  shell, 

Through  the  gloom  and  the  glare, 
For  the  conquest  lies  here, 

And  the  glory  lies  there. 
Alas  for  Planciancois  ! 

Alas  for  Cailloux  ! 
For  the  heroes  who  fall 

In  the  ranks  of  the  Blue! 
For  the  gallant  Black  Regiment 

Under  the  guns 
In  the  charge  at  Port  Hudson  ! 

What  did  they  wrest  from  the  breach 
Under  the  guns  at  Port  Hudson? 

From  the  rage  of  retreat, 

In  the  pangs  of  defeat? 

From  the  fury  of  hate, 

And  the  frenzy  of  fate  ? 

From  the  jibe  and  the  jeer, 

And  the  scorn  and  the  sneer. 
From  revenge  that  leaps  out 
In  the  ruin  and  rout, 
And  gloats  on  the  wounded, 

And  gloats  on  the  dead, 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


As  the  jackal  that  stirs 
The  swift  pulses  of  dread  ? 

What  did  they  wrest  from  the  breach, 
Under  the  guns  at  Port  Hudson  ? 
The  right  to  be  men  ;  to  stand  forth 
Clean-limbed  in  the  fierce  light  of  freedom, 
And  say,  "  We  are  men!     We  are  men 
By  these  scars,  by  these  wounds  !  "  And  what  then  ? 
"  Why,  patriots,  wed  to  our  deeds, 
In  the  face  of  the  law  and  the  creeds  / 
By  our  flag  ruby  red 
With  the  blood  of  the  dead, 
To  stand  by  our  land  in  her  needs ! 
The  first  of  the  fearless, 
The  peer  of  the  peerless, 
When  glory  to  glory  tip-leads  !  " 

Out  of  the  awful  abyss, 
Up  from  the  guns  at  Port  Hudson, 
Out  of  the  smoke  and  the  flame, 
Shattered  and  scattered  they  came, — 
Casting  the  gyves  of  the  slave, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  123 

Winning  the  gules  of  the  free  ; 
One  on  the  rolls  of  the  brave, 
One  in  the  glory  to  be, — 
The  gallant  Black  Regiment ! 


124  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


WELCOME    HOME  ! 

WELCOME  !  welcome  !     Hark  !  the  greeting 
From  the  glad  home-voices  comes, 

Words  which  echo  is  repeating 
With  the  triumph-speaking  drums. 

Welcome  home  from  fields  of  glory, 

Sacred  evermore  in  story, 

Won  by  you  in  battles  gory, — 
Welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !    welcome  !    We  remember 
When  you  proudly  took  the  field  ; 

'T  was  the  beautiful  September, 
And  the  war-trumps  loudly  pealed. 

Oh,  how  proud  you  seemed  when  passing 

To  the  front,  where  troops  were  massing, 

Loyal  from  disloyal  classing, — 
Welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     We  are  thinking 
Of  the  wilds  of  Tennessee, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  125 

When  with  Burnside,  all  unshrinking, 

You  assumed  supremacy ; 
And  from  then,  your  name  maintaining, 
Honors  new  and  noble  gaining, 
Well  you  won  the  praise  we're  naming, — 
Welcome  home  ! 

Welcome !  welcome  !     Ask  of  Sherman 

What  of  honor  you  may  know  ! 
He  will  answer,  "  Robes  of  ermine, 

Gold  and  gems,  cannot  bestow 
Half  the  fame  on  those  who  wear  them, 
And  in  princely  power  bear  them ! " 
Who  with  honor  would  compare  them?  — 
Welcome  home' 

Welcome  !  welcome  !  Months  have  vanished 

Since  on  frowning  Rocky  Face 
You  all  thoughts  and  feelings  banished, 

Save  to  fill  the  hero's  place. 
Never  were  you  seen  retreating, 
But  the  haughty  foe  defeating, 
While  the  wildest  storms  were  beating, — 
Welcome  home  ! 


126  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Welcome  !  welcome  !  Those  were  battles 

Which  the  world  is  proud  to  name  ; 
Freeing  all  the  human  chattels, 

Filling  traitor-hearts  with  shame. 
Kenesaw's  destructive  charges, 
Dallas  and  Lost  Mountain's  gorges, 
Resaca — how  the  theme  enlarges!  — 
Welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     Hood  surrounded 

And  the  fair  Atlanta  won, 
Paeans  through  the  Northland  sounded 

For  the  good  work  you  had  done  ; 
And  your  great  achievements  summing, 
In  our  hearts  we  said,  "They're  coming, 
Hark  !  the  song  of  peace  is  humming !  "- 
Welcome  home ! 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     Darkness  lowered 

Fearfully  above  us  all, 
When  brave  Thomas  seemed  o'erpowered, 

And  his  strength  about  to  fall  ; 
But  at  Franklin,  death  defying, 
While  your  comrades  low  were  lying, 
Back  you  sent  the  foemen  flying, — 
Welcome  home  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  127 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     We  shall  never 

Cease  to  see  the  Nashville  rout, 
When  with  gleaming  steel  you  ever 

Made  the  rebels  face  about. 
Hood's  battalions  are  retreating, 
Bugles  blare  and  drums  are  beating, 
Fame  extends  you  royal  greeting, — 
Welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     We  have  shrined  you 

In  the  temple  of  our  heart ; 
And  within  it  have  entwined  you 

Fadeless  wreaths  with  subtle  art. 
There  are  lines  in  Love's  own  letters, 
Battles,  prison-cells,  and  fetters  ; 
To  your  prowess  we  are  debtors, — 
Welcome  home ! 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     God  who  kept  you 

All  these  weary  days  agone, 
Though  of  comrades  He  bereft  you, 

He  but  gathered  home  His  own  ; 
Ever  guide  you  by  His  power, 
Though  the  angry  tempests  lower, 
Peace  her  blessings  o'er  you  shower, — 
Welcome  home ! 


128  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Welcome  !  welcome  !     For  the  sleeping 
Heroes  in  their  distant  graves, 

We  the  silent  tears  are  weeping, 

While  their  blood-bought  banner  waves 

But  its  sacred  folds  can  never 

Treason  lift  a  hand  to  sever, 

Clasp  we  hands,  then,  and  forever  !  — 
Welcome  home! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  129 


CHRISTMAS   AT   THE   SOLDIERS' 
ORPHANS'   HOME. 

THE  Christmas  morn  was  breaking;  and  startled 

from  my  sleep 
By  merry  chimes  in  chorus  and  joy-bells  loud  and 

deep, 
I  breathed  a  hurried  matin,  and,  turning  round  my 

head, 
The  brightest  forms  and  faces  came  dancing  to  my 

bed. 

I  looked  up  quite  bewildered,  and  puzzled  much  to 

say 

If  on  the  earth,  or  fairies  had  stolen  me  away  ; 
For  beaming  black  eyes  dazzled,  and  laughing  blue 

eyes  shone, 
And  with  the  radiant  vision  mine  eyes  had  blinded 

grown. 

And   O   the   flaxen   ringlets  and   curls  of   sunny 
brown. 

9 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


That  over  dimpled   faces  and   shoulders    rippled 

down  ; 
And  O  the  silvery  voices  that  rang  through  house 

and  hall  — 
"  A  merry,  merry  Christmas  !     A  merry  Christmas 

all  !  " 

But  even  more  I  marveled  —  for  mingling  in  the 

shout 
Were  words  of  foreign  meaning  I  could  not  well 

make  out,  — 
"6V1.  Nicholas"  "Kris  Kringle"  and  "Santa  Claus" 

I  heard, 
With  "  Pelschnicol"  "  Knecht  Rupert"   and   many 

another  word. 

Among  the  merry  dancers  was  happy  little  Nell, 
And  all  her  darling  playmates  from  near  and  far  as 

well, 
In  floating  white,  with  sashes  of  blue  and  pink  and 

red, 
And  full  of  fun  and  frolic  was  every  little  head. 

And  little  people,  oddest  of  any  ever  seen, 
Tripped  merrily  in  quaintest  of  costumes  gray  and 
green, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  131 

The  skirts  of  some  were  trailing,  and  some  cut  at 

the  knee, 
And  on  their  feet  were  sandals  and  buskins  queer 

to  see. 

One  wore  a  gown  of  linsey,  a  'kerchief  round  her 

neck, 
And  wooden  shoes,  and  close-set  cap,  and  apron 

made  of  check ; 

And  beckoning  unto  me  the  modest  little  miss, 
I  said,  "  Meine  Fraulein,  tell   me  who  your  Kris 

Kringle  is  !  " 

Then    modestly  the  maiden    told    in   her  simple 

phrase, 
Of  dear  Kris  Kringle  going  through  broad  and 

narrow  ways, 

To  burgher  and  to  cotter  as  to  the  mighty  king, 
And  leaving  all  good  children  some  pretty,  dainty 

thing. 

How  on  the  Christmas  even  he  hangs  the  lighted 

tree, 
With  toys,  and  brightest  ribbons,  and  flowers  fair  to 

see  ; 


132  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

And  how  when  Kinder  gather  with  glad  and  smiling 

eyes, 
Knecht  Rupert  showers  candies  and  laughs  at  their 

surprise. 

Then  came  a  dimpled  darling  in  linen  bib  and  hose, 
And  cheeks  and  lip,  I'm  certain,  as  red  as  any  rose  ; 
Then  I :  "  O  merry  maiden  of  merry  England,  say 
What  do  ye  in  your  country  on  merry  Christmas 
day  ? " 

"  We  gather  in  the  holly  with  scarlet  berries  bright, 
We  hang  the  sacred  mistletoe  and  dance  by  the 

Yule-fire  light ; 
We  pass  the  steaming  wassail  with  ribbons  round 

the  bowl, 
While  merry  Christmas  carols  from  hall  to  cottage 

roll. 

"And  with  the  bright-leaved  holly  we  gather  in 

good-will, 

And  with  the  sacred  mistletoe  we  banish  every  ill, 
And   in  the  smoking  wassail   drown   enmity  and 

strife, 
And  in  the  tender  carol  call  blessings  on  our  life. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  133 

"  And  then  the  mighty  pudding  stuffed  full  of  juicy 
plums, 

And  rare  mince  pie  and  cider,  and  rusk  and  white- 
bread  crumbs, 

And  far  into  the  midnight  the  feasting  and  the 
games, — 

The  only  night  when  wee  folk  have  any  sort  of 
claims." 

A  lad  in  kilt  and  plaidie  came  bravely  up  and 
talked 

About  the  masqueraders  that  in  his  country  stalked, 

Disguised  in  strangest  costumes,  with  horns  and 
pipes  and  wigs, 

And  danced  the  reel  and  hornpipe  and  lilting  High- 
land jigs. 

A  youth  from  France  the  sunny  came  singing  Notre 

Dame, 
How  people  wreathe  the  altars  with  garlands,  and 

the  balm 

Of  charities  and  flowers  and  words  of  kindly  cheer 
Become  sweet  consecration  for  each  new  Christmas 

year. 


T34  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

"  What  word,  O  brown  Italian  ?  "     With  dark  and 

flashing  eye, 

And  floating  robe  of  crimson  he  softly  glided  by, 
And  many  glowing  pictures  of  good  St.  Nicholas 

drew, 
Who  comes  each  year  to  Florence,  and  Rome,  and 

Venice  too  ; 

And   brings  good   gifts   and   gladness   to   humble 

hearth  and  home, 

And  rings  the  merry  revels  from  lofty  minster-dome, 
And  fills  the  streets  with  people,  their  hearts  with 

holy  fire, 
And   sings  the   grand  old   anthems  in  proud   St. 

Peter's  choir. 

And  from  remotest  countries  and   further  ocean 

isles, 
Wherever  Christ  is  worshipped,  they  came  with  songs 

and  smiles  ; 

In  robes  of  fur  from  Russia,  in  silk  from  far  Siam, 
The  Laplander  in  muffler,  the  Hindoo  with  his  fan. 

And  in  one  mighty  chorus  they  sang  a  holy  hymn, 
About  the  Christ-Child  dwelling  in  far-off  Bethle- 
hem, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  135 

Till  in  a  cloud  of  glory  I  saw  them  float  away, 
Like  stars  that  softly  vanish  with  the  coming  of  the 
day. 

But  still  the  anthem  lingered  through  all  the  Christ- 
mas morn, 

The  song  I  think  the  angels  sung  when  Christ  the 
Lord  was  born  ; 

When,  bending  o'er  the  manger,  the  prophets  hailed 
their  King, 

And  in  the  lap  of  Mary  poured  precious  offering. 

Now  God  be  thanked,  who  gave  us  this  day  of  all 

the  days, 
When  hand  in  hand  the  nations  extol  His  matchless 

ways  ! 
Ring  out,  glad  bells,  the  story,  the  gfoddest  of  the 

year  ! 
Sing  out,  glad  souls,  your  carols,   till   earth  and 

heaven  hear ! 


I36  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


CHARGE    OF    THE    MAINE    REGIMENTS. 

WHERE  Rappahannock's  waters  roll 

Adown  Virginia's  wasted  plain, 
Where  seaward  dash  its  troubled  waves 

To  mingle  with  the  angry  main, 
Brave  Sedgwick  with  his  gallant  corps, 

His  war-bronzed  corps  of  valiant  men, 
Marched  proudly  o'er  the  blood-stained  way, 

To  meet  the  sturdy  foe  again. 
"  Charge  for  the  guns,  boys  !  charge !  "  he  cried  : 
"  Charge  for  your  homes,  your  firesides  free  ! 
Charge  for  your  country's  life  and  pride  ! 

Charge  for  the  boon  of  liberty  !  " 
Then,  dashing  on,  through  shot  and  shell, 
They  nobly  fought,  or  nobly  fell. 

First  to  storm  the  frowning  earthworks, 
Rushed  the  Sixth  and  Seventh  Maine  ; 

While  the  whizzing  balls  and  bullets 
Showered  down  like  autumn  rain, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  137 

On  firm  hands  that  trembled  never, 

On  true  hearts  that  would  not  quail  ; 
There  was  no  weak  arm  to  shudder, 

No  false  voice  to  whisper  "Fail." 
Twice  they  charged  in  quick  succession, 

Twice,  through  galling  murderous  fire, 
Twice  repulsed,  both  horse  and  footman 

Sought  again  the  conflict  dire  ; 
Till,  every  leader  lying  slain, 
Alone  they  raised  the  flag  again. 

And  gathering  'neath  its  shining  folds, 

They  said,  while  smiled  its  cheering  stars, 
1  Boys,  let  us  charge  again,  and   hold 

The  works  without  our  officers. 
We'll  bravely  on,  nor  halt,  nor  turn  ; 

What  though  we  fall  ?  we  triumph  still, 
For  every  drop  of  blood  we  shed 

Shall  raise  a  host  our  ranks  to  fill. 
On,  then  !  on,  o'er  the  crimson  field  ! 
On  !  on  !  through  the  blood  of  the  slain ! 
On  !  on !  and  the  battlements  gain 
Heaven  shall  catch  a  gladsome  strain  ; 
For  joining  we  will  send  on  high, 
To  God,  our  praise  for  victory." 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL  -DAY, 


Then  on  they  sped,  while  cannons  raged, 

And  belched  their  fury  o'er  their  way, 
Till  on  the  works  their  banners  waved 

Through  battle  smoke  that  dimmed  the  day. 
O  Rappahannock  !    gently  roll 

Your  moaning  billows  to  the  sea  ; 
And  ever  let  your  murmured  dirge 

Rise  upward  for  the  fallen  free  ; 
For  those  who,  filled  with  holy  zeal, 

With  love  of  country  half  divine, 
Gave  all  their  cherished  hopes  and  joys, 

As  offerings  for  their  country's  shrine. 
Then  gently,  river,  roll  your  waves  ; 
Your  banks  are  lined  with  sacred  graves. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  139 


THE   BOY   HERO'S   MOTHER. 

STRICKEN  heart  that  throbs  with  grief, 
By  the  waves  of  sorrow  tossed, 
Mourning  for  the  early  lost, — 

Look  above  ! 

Hopes  now  wrecked  upon  the  reef 
Shall  revive  in  endless  love  ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

Spirit  bowed  with  crushing  woe, 
Light  the  darkest  gloom  enshrouds ; 
Penetrate  the  battle  clouds  !  — 

Look  above  ! 

Triumph  follows  Freedom's  blow, 
Sent  from  realms  of  endless  love ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

Canst  thou  pierce  the  heavy  gloom  ? 
Canst  thou  clasp  the  promise  sealed 
Righteous  truth  can  never  yield  !  — 
Look  above  ! 


140  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

'Round  your  hero's  lowly  tomb, 
Glows  the  light  of  endless  love ;  — 
Look  above  ! 

Young  in  years  but  strong  in  zeal, 
Could  he  stand  inactively 
By  the  flag  of  Liberty? — 

Look  above  ! 
Immortality  shall  seal 
All  his  deeds  in  endless  love ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

He,  to  right  his  country's  wrong, 
In  the  priceless  hours  of  youth 
Grasped  the  mighty  sword  of  truth  ;- 

Look  above  ! 

And,  with  soul-triumphant  song, 
Soared  to  realms  of  endless  love  ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

Higher  service  there  is  none 
Than  to  save  our  Fatherland 
From  a  vaunting  traitor-band  ;  — 
Look  above  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  141 

Glory  claims  him  for  her  own, 
Twines  his  brow  in  endless  love ;  — 
Look  above  ! 

One  more  sacrifice  is  given, 

One  more  home  is  robbed  of  light, 

Dwelling  now  in  deepest  night  ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

Sacred  ties  on  earth  are  riven ; 
But  abide  in  endless  love ;  — 

Look  above  ! 

Waiting  spirit,  crushed  and  torn, 
Drinking  yet  the  cup  of  gall, 
Or  hast  drained  its  marah  all, — 

Look  above  ! 

Soon  beyond  earth's  sorrows  borne 
Thou  shalt  dwell  in  endless  love  !  — 

Look  above  ! 


142         CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 


TOAST   OF  THE   IRISH   VOLUNTEER. 

WHEN   the   Red,   White    and    Blue   was   lowered 

before  us, 

And  trailed  in  the  dust  by  an  insolent  foe, 
When    treacherous    tongues   in   their    threatening 

chorus 

Avowed  it  should  e'er  in  dishonor  lay  low, 
The  bravest  and  best 
Clasped  its  folds  to  their  breast, 
And  swore  to  uplift  it  in  glory  again. 
Then  foremost  were  seen 
The  sons  of  the  Green  ; 
Their  hands  they  had  laid  on  their  new  country's 

altar, 

Whose  freedom  had  wooed  them  from  Erin  away, 
In  the  Army  and  Navy,  ah  !  when  did  they  falter? 
Their  praise  is  well  sung  on  St.  Phadrig's  Day. 

On  mount  Croagh  Phadrig,  the  saint  in  whose  favor 
Each  Irish  heart  struggles  to  dwell  in  the  while 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  143 

Spake  words  of  such  weight  as  to  banish  forever 
The  plagues  that  infested  his  beautiful  isle. 
A  careful  gleaning 
Imparts  us  the  meaning 

That  vices  and  wrongs  were  the  evils  he  fought ; 
A  faint  repetition 
Of  the  honored  tradition 
We  recently  had  in  our  own  favored  land, 

When  the  grossest  of  crimes  was  wiped  quite  away 
By  our  "  Army  and  Navy,"  which  ever  will  stand 
A  time-honored  toast  on  St.  Phadrig's  Day. 

Then  long  wave  the  Green  !  it  shall  float  with  our 

colors, 
Since  'neath  the  Old  Flag  those  who  loved  it  have 

died  ; 
Their    hearts  were   with   ours    in   our   season   of 

dolors, 

They  shall  still  be  with  ours  in  the  hour  of  our 
pride. 

So  shall  the  sweet  song 
Of  triumph  belong 

To  the  loyal  and  leal,  be  their  clime  what  it  will. 
The  Green  and  the  White, 
The  Blue  and  the  Bright, 


144  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Shall  harmonize  well  in  their  kindred  communion, 
And  flash  into  light  though  the  morning  be  gray  ; 

And  the  "  Army  and  Navy,"  the  pride  of  the  Union, 
Be  first  on  the  toasts  of  St.  Phadrig's  Day. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  145 


THE  WELCOME   GRAVE. 

THROUGH  all  the  long  night,  from  the  left  to  the 

right 

The  war-cries  of  Freedom  had  pealed  ; 
But  we  watched  on  our  arms,  till  the  battle  alarms 

Had  summoned  us  forth  to  the  field. 
In  the  thick  wooded  gorge  we  prepared  for  the 

charge, 

Strong  and  firm,  not  a  battle-line  swayed. 
"  On,  and  victory  reap,  on  the  rock-bounded  steep!  " 
Said  our  chief  ;  not  a  man  was  dismayed. 

Where  our  brave  banner  waves, 
We  will  follow  it  well  through  the  shot  and  the 
shell, 

Though  to  patriot  graves. 

Then  we  rushed  on  the  foe,  in  an  unbroken  row, 

That  beautiful  morning  in  June  ; 
While  cheer  after  cheer,  from  the  front  to  the  rear, 

Swept  down  through  the  open  lagune  ; 


146  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

The  queen  of  the  night,  in  her  swift-going  flight, 

Had  crossed  o'er  that  white-tented  lea  ; 
And  dropping  her  gems,  decked  the  leaf-enriched 

stems 
Of  every  flower  and  tree. 

And  the  azure-hued  skies 

Kissed  the  fresh-growing  earth  into  gladness  and 
mirth, 

Like  a  new  Paradise. 

But  for  us  not  the  sweet  of  the  woodland  retreat — 

Our  orders,  to  conquer  or  die  ! 
So  we  proudly  advanced,  while  the  bright  sunshine 

danced 

On  our  arms  like  a  smile  from  on  high  ; 
Then  they  poured  on  our  ranks  from  the  opposite 

banks 

The  death-dealing  missiles  of  war. 
When  a  shell  with  a  scream,  and  a  quick  angry 

gleam, 
Sunk  down  like  an  ill-omened  star. 

And  our  hearts  throbbed  with  pain, 
As  we  sighed  for  the  braves  doomed  to  cold  lonely 
graves, 

On  that  desolate  plain. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  147 

'Twas  a  swift  passing  thought,  and  we  poured  the 

red  shot 

And  turned  the  cold  steel  on  the  foe. 
Though  they  massed  in  their  strength,  they  fell 

broken  at  length, 

Or  fled  to  their  strongholds  below. 
And  we  rested  a  pace  from  the  wearisome  chase, 

And  gazed  o'er  the  crimson-stained  field, 
Where  the  brave-hearted   dead   had   their   sacred 

blood  shed, 
And  by  the  death-angel  were  sealed. 

While  away  to  the  right 

Were  bits  of  the  shell  which  so  wrathfully  fell ; 
But  no  victims  in  sight. 

Can  worldly  cares  save  in  the  peace  of  the  grave  ? 

Can  conflict  its  quiet  molest  ? 
And  anguish — ah  no  !  so  securely  below, 

From  carnage,  the  hero  found  rest. 
Not  the  calm  peaceful  rest  which  the  perfectly  blest 

In  the  dreamless  Forever  have  gained, 
But  a  refuge  from  harm,  which  the  triumphant  arm 

Of  the  angel  of  battle  had  deigned  ; 


148  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL. DAY, 

And  in  wonder  we  spoke, 
For  we  felt  in  that  hour  the  sovereign  power 
Of  the  aid  we  invoke. 

The  pickets  who  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  wood 

In  the  dawn  of  the  morning  had  seen 
The  dark  forms  of  men  emerged  from  the  glen, 

Through  the  white  mists  that  gathered  between  ; 
Then  as  suddenly  halt  where   the  blue   smiling 

vault 

Of  Heaven  seemed  close  through  the  trees. 
"  We  will  bury  him  here,  where  the  fragrant  flowers 

near 

Will  lavish  their  sweets  on  the  breeze." 
And  they  scooped  a  rude  grave, 
Ah  !  above  their  wild  dream,  a  power  supreme 
Through  them  purposed  to  save. 

Ah  !  we  seem  not  to  know  that  deep-hidden  below 

Our  plans,  are  the  workings  divine 
Of  the  spirit  of  light  sent  to  guide  us  aright, 

And  justice  with  mercy  combine. 
And    forget    that  the  eye  which  afar    from    the 
sky 

Can  see  e'en  the  poor  sparrow  fall, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  149 

Will  endless  watch  keep,  though  we  thoughtlessly 

sleep, 
And  guide  us  through  fears  that  appall ; 

And  when  dangers  have  grown 
So  thick  at  our  feet  that  there  seems  no  retreat, 
He  will  bear  up  His  own. 


15°  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


COMRADESHIP. 

HAND  in  hand  we  wander, 
Through  the  world  together 
In  the  sunny  weather, 

In  the  chilling  showers ; 
And  what  time  we  squander 
In  our  simple  pleasures, 
We  reclaim  in  treasures 

From  the  working  hours. 

We  have  often  tarried 
In  the  fragrant  meadows, 
Or  the  grateful  shadows 

Of  the  silent  wood  ; 
And  the  storms  have  parried, 
Clinging  closer  ever, 
Did  the  lightnings  sever 

Where  we  startled  stood. 

We  have  wanted  little 
Since  the  hour  we  started; 
Very  hopeful-hearted 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


Have  we  ever  gone  ; 
Though  the  merest  tittle 
Of  the  world's  good  treasure 
Could  we  ever  measure 

For  ourselves  alone. 

There  are  harder  lessons 
In  a  life  to  vex  one 
Than  the  pressing  question 

Of  our  daily  bread  ; 
But  the  swift  impressions 
Of  a  willing  spirit 
Are  the  hands  of  merit 

Spinning  fortune's  thread. 

And  it  little  matters 
Where  our  earthly  lot  is, 
If  our  only  thought  is 

To  be  happy  there  ; 
For  the  Sower  scatters 
Good  in  evil  places, 
And  the  true  heart  traces 

Blessings  everywhere. 


152  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


TWENTY  YEARS   AGO. 

1865-1885. 

I  STAND  and  count  the  flying  years  upon  my  fingers, 

thus  : 

Five,  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty, — an  age  it  seems  to  us 
Since,  flinging  down  our  haversacks,  unstripping  belt 

and  gun, 
We  bade  good-bye  to  want  and  war  that  day  at 

Washington. 
The  bronze  was  in  our  faces  and  the  sheen  was  in 

our  eyes, 
Though  the  fighting  had  been  awful,  boys,  —  this 

fact  we  can't  disguise  ; 
But  we  strode  with  sturdy  paces,  and  our  hearts 

were  all  aglow, 
For  Youth  and  Love  they  beckoned  us — just  twenty 

years  ago. 

Now,  we  scan  each  others'  faces  to  see  if  we  can  tell 
'Neath  bleaching  locks,  the  boyish  traits  we  learned 
to  love  so  well, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  153 

Or  can  tell  the  slender  comrade,  the  rollicking,  the 

gay, 

In  that  doughty  dignitary  who  steps  so  slow  to-day ; 
To  learn  if  live  the  gallant  boys  who  laughed  at 

Rebel  lead, 

If  there  were  any  foes  to  fight,  or  any  fun  ahead, 
Who  knew  the  sign  and  countersign,  and  gave  the 

quick  hollo, 
When  prowling  round  the  picket-line — yes,  twenty 

years  ago. 

And  how  have  gone  the  years  with  you,  O  comrades 

tried  and  true, 
Since  laying  down  the  musket  and  casting  off  the 

blue? 
And  where  is  pitched  your  bivouac  ?    Who  messes 

with  you  now  ? 
And  are  you  training  new  recruits  to  toe  the  mark  ? 

And  how 
Are  rations  with  you,  comrades  ?     What,  a  little 

short,  you  say  ? 
Though  you  forage  late  and  early,  your  prizes  slip 

away? 


154  CAMP-FIRE,   MEMORIAL-DAY, 

But  you  camp  in  snugger  quarters,  aye,  comrades, 

this  we  know, 
Than  when  wrapped  within  your  blankets — more 

than  twenty  years  ago. 

Hark!  hark!    Yon  mighty  rumbling!     Again  and 

yet  again  ! 
What  mean  those  angry  echoes  in  the  piney  woods 

of  Maine  ? 
'Tis  not  the  rolling  tempest,  the  crash  of  rudders 

dashed 

Against  the  grinding  granite,  the  forelands  ocean- 
lashed  ! 
'Tis  not  the  wrath  of  earthquakes  come  creeping 

through  the  seas, 
From  the  ragings  of  Vesuvius,  the  battered  walls 

of  Greece ! 
Boom  !  boom !    The  valleys  tremble,  the  hills  are 

rocking  low  : 
It  is  the  blast  of  Battle — four-and-twenty  years  ago  ! 

Boom  !  boom  !    The  guns  of  Sumter  are  thundering 

at  our  doors, 
Above  the  beetling  breakers  the  tide  of  battle  pours  ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  155 

The  oath  of  War  is  spoken,  from  mouth  to  mouth 

it  runs, — 

And  over  in  Skowhegan  the  women  man  the  guns. 
Boom!  boom!    It  is  the  call  for  me,  it  is  the  call  for 

you  ! 
Boom  !  boom  !  for  men  of  mettle  to  don  the  Union 

blue; 

The  long-roll  it  is  sounding,  it  wakened  with  a  blow 
The  bivouac  of  ages — four-and-twenty  years  ago ! 

Swing  out  your  flags,  O  comrades,  and  keep  your 

paces  true, 
For  Freedom  calls  for  valiant  men  when  she  has 

work  to  do ! 
Lo,  there  are  mothers  praying  and  wives  to  speak 

"  Good  cheer," 
And  there  are  children  pleading  —  God  grant  the 

end  be  near  ! 
And  there  are  comrades  dying,  their  whispers  thrill 

us  yet, — 
O  mute  and  mournful   memories  we  never  can 

forget ! 
"  Go,  tell  her  that  her  flag  and  mine  I  saved  ere 

stricken  low, — " 


156  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Ah,  comrades !   sad  the  messages  of  twenty  years 
ago  ! 

Let  others  sing  the  songs  of  War :  we  sing  the 

songs  of  Peace ; 
The  splendors  of  the  battle  pale  before  such  thoughts 

as  these ; 
For  ours  was  not  the  march  of  hate,  of  devastating 

band, 
To  set  the  falcons  of  despoil  a-flying  through  the 

land; 
We  knew  no  braggart  boast  of  arms,  we  had  no 

wish  to  roam, 
Our  feet  sped  on  where  duty  called,  our  hearts  were 

still  at  home  ; 
On  weary  march,  in  dreary  camp,  our  ranks  were 

all  aglow, 
If  but  the   mails  a  letter  brought  —  aye,   twenty 

years  ago. 

O  comrades,  hand-in-hand  upon  the  headland  heights 

of  Maine — 
The  State  that  never  lost  a  flag,  that  never  charged 

in  vain, — 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  157 

What  see  you  on  the  Westward  line  ?    What  see 

you  at  the  South, 
Where  June  is  wreathing  roses  within  the  cannon's 

mouth  ? 
What  see  you  there  at  Gettysburg  ?    The  brooding 

wings  of  Love, 

The  violets  a-blowing  the  Blue  and  Gray  above  ! 
Span  mountain  unto  mountain,  link  vale  to  vale, 

and  lo, 
It  is  the   Arch   of    Peace  we    fashioned    twenty 

years  ago  ! 

O  Nation  great,  State  linked  to  State  in  bonds  that 

none  can  break, 
From  Ocean  unto   Ocean,  from  Gulf  to   Northern 

lake  ! 
State  linked  to  State,  fate  linked  to  fate,  in  mart 

and  mint  and  mine, 
In  rolling  plain  of  golden  grain,  in  toss  of  plumy 

pine  ! 
State  linked  to  State  in  goodly  fate  that  sounds  the 

swift  advance, 
Where  banners  that  have  wooed  the  world  before 

our  legions  dance ! 


I58  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

This  is  the  dream  that  crowns  our  years;  and  when 

our  heads  are  low, 
Float  out,  float  on,  O  Union  flag,  as  twenty  years 

ago  ! 


PART   II. 


OTHER   POEMS. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  161 


PRISCILLA,   AQUILA,   AND   PAUL. 

METHOUGHT  on  Corinth's  citadel 

I  gazed  far  down  the  strand, 
Where,  twice  a  thousand  feet  below, 

The  fair  fleets  sail  and  land  ; 
And  half  across  the  Isthmian  plain 

The  mountain  shadows  chase 
And  clasp  a  thousand  domes  and  towers 

Within  their  close  embrace. 

I  looked;  and  lo,  three  other  forms 

Beside  me  on  the  wall : 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 

And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

They  stood  and  viewed  the  stately  ships 
Come  back  from  Tyre  and  Rome, 

The  black-prowed  argosies  from  Ind 
Bear  gold  and  spices  home  ; 

I  saw  them  scan  the  western  shores 
Where  high  Parnassus  shines, 


162  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Above  the  Delphian  oracles, 
Above  the  Delphian  shrines. 

"  O  Christ,  be  pitiful  to  these  !  " 
They  said,  both  one  and  all : 

Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 
And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

Unto  the  East  I  saw  them  turn, 

And  gaze  with  wondering  eyes, 
Where,  gleaming  on  the  Athenian  heights, 

Minerva's  altars  rise  ; 
Where,  on  the  bay,  fair  Athens  lifts 

Her  temples  to  the  sun, 
And,  thither  pointing,  Paul  relates 

The  mighty  works  there  done  ; 
How  on  the  summit  of  Mars'  Hill, 

Beneath  Minerva's  throne, 
He  mocked  the  wrath  of  all  the  gods, 

Proclaiming  ONE  UNKNOWN. 

They  bowed  their  heads  and  blessed  His 
name 

Who  loves  both  great  and  small  : 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one. 

And  one  the  saintly  Pam. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  163 

Below  us  the  Saronic  gulf 

Lay  dimpling  in  the  sun, 
Her  fertile  islands  reaching  down 

Unto  the  fair  Colonne  ; 
To  right  of  us  Lepanto  laughs 

Beside  the  Sicyon  shore ; 
And  all  between,  the  olive  yards, 

And  vineyards  purpling  o'er, 
And  lemon  groves,  and  citron, 

And  orange  rows  and  corn, 
And  Cyprus  for  the  Isthmian  crowns 

Of  heroes  newly  born. 

"  //  ts  a  plenteous  land  and  fair" 

They  spake,  both  one  and  all : 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 

And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

There,  Neptune's  mighty  colonnades 

Above  the  Stadium  rise, 
Where  Greece  sends  down  her  knightliest 
youths 

To  struggle  for  the  prize  ; 
And  there,  upreaching  step  by  step, 

The  Theatre  of  stone, 


164  CAMP-FIRE,   MEMORIAL-DAY, 

And  hugging  close  the  Isthmic  wall 

The  tower  of  Palaemon. 
It  is  a  goodly  sight,  I  ween, 

This  city  of  two  seas — 
A  queen  between  two  lovers  set — 

The  citadel  of  Greece. 

"May  Christ  pour  out  his  spirit  here,' 
They  prayed,  both  one  and  all  : 

Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 
And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

Then  spake  the  great  Apostle: 

"Across  yon  liquid  blue 
There  rise  as  glorious  cities 

As  any  now  we  view  ; 
As  precious  to  that  Saviour 

Who  said,  '  Go,  tell  of  me 
Unto  all  climes  and  kingdoms 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea.' 
Now  ye,  most  wise  Priscilla, 

And  Aquila,  go  with  me ; 
That  even  there  at  Ephesus, 

As  here  at  Corinth,  we 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  165 

May  name  the  name  of  Jesus 

Where  great  Diana's  shrined, 
Till  the  ashes  of  her  temples 

Shall  be  scattered  with  the  wind." 

I  heard  the  twain  take  up  their  vows 

Unto  the  solemn  call : 
Priscilla  one,   Aquila  one, 

And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

And  now  from  busy  Cenchrea, 

Fair  Corinth's  strong  right  arm, 
Where  Phebe  and  the  brethren  give 

A  God-speed,  sad  but  warm, — 
Across  the  ^gean  waters  blue, 

Among  her  thousand  isles, 
They  sail,  and  sail,  until  beyond 

The  Ephesian  harbor  smiles 
Diana's  glittering  colonnade 

Reflecting  back  the  sun 
From  capitols  and  cornices 

And  friezes  one  by  one. 

And  there  from  house  to  house  they  taught 
The  people  one  and  all : 


166  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 
And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

O  Paul !  beneath  thy  rods  and  stripes, 

In  perils  on  the  deep, 
In  perils  from  an  hundred  ills 

That  slumber  not  nor  sleep, 
In  weariness  and  watch  ings, 

In  hungerings  oft,  and  thirst, 
In  nakedness,  in  agony, 

From  unbelief  accursed, 
How  blessed  in  such  love  to  share, 

Such  home  thy  home  to  call, — 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 

And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

God  only  knoweth  all  they  wrought 

In  that  Ephesian  town — 
Priscilla  and  Aquila 

Beloved  in  renown  ; 
Now  toiling  on  with  busy  hands, 

Now  jeopardizing  all, 
Instructors  of  Apollos, 

Co-laborers  with  Paul ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  167 

God  only  knoweth  how  at  Rome 
They  cheered  the  martyr's  heart, 

Now  ready  to  be  offered 

In  that  clamorous  Roman  mart. 

Methinks  the  three  together  walked 

Beyond  that  city's  wall  : 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, 

And  one  the  saintly  Paul. 

At  Rome,  upon  the  Ostian  way 

Caius  Cestus'  tomb 
Still  lifts  its  lofty  cenotaph 

Above  the  surrounding  gloom ; 
And  thence  down  all  the  centuries 

Has  come  the  Martyr's  plea  : 
"  Priscilla  greet,  Aquila  greet, 

Ye  churches  yet  to  be!" 

They  bore  his  body  thence  with  tears, 

When  he  had  suffered  all : 
Priscilla  one,  Aquila  one, — 

And  one  the  martyred  Paul. 

Again  on  Corinth's  mount  I  stand 
And  view  the  lands  below : 


1 68  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

The  idol  temples  in  the  dust 
Are  crumbled  long  ago ; 

And  where  the  three  together  stood 
A  thousand  thousand  stand, 

And  sail  and  sail  to  golden  shores 
Beyond  the  Ephesian  strand. 

But  still  we  hear  the  voice  of  Paul 

Unto  all  people  call : 
"  Priscilla  greet,  Aquila  greet, 

That  Christ  be  all  in  all" 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  169 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   MAY. 

WITH  the  early  dawn  I'm  waking, 

And  joy  is  in  the  air ; 
The  song  of  birds  is  breaking 

The  silence  everywhere  ; 
And  my  heart  is  full  of  longing 

I  cannot  all  allay, 
In  dear  old  haunts  to  welcome 

The  coming  of  the  May. 

In  those  rare  enchanted  orchards 

Where  peach  'and  apple  bloom 
Are  filling  all  the  long  bright  hours 

With  delicate  perfume, 
Or  within  the  grand  old  forests 

Where  sun  and  shadow  play, 
'Twere  very  sweet  again  to  greet 

The  coming  of  the  May. 

There  are  such  countless  treasures 
In  forests  far  away — 


170  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

The  starry-eyed  anemones, 

And  lady-slippers  gay ; 
And  I  can  tell  the  very  spot 

Where  orchids  hide  away 
Their  pretty  precious  faces 

Till  the  coming  of  the  May. 

I  know  just  where  the  violets 

Bloom  in  the  meadow  hedge, 
And  where  the  pink  arbutus  trails 

Adown  the  river  ledge  ; 
Where  trilliums  and  blue-bells  low 

Are  bowing  all  the  day, 
To  welcome  with  their  dainty  grace 

The  coming  of  the  May. 

And  the  slopes  upon  the  hilltops 

Where  grows  the  mountain  tea, 
Where  sassafras  and  birch  abound, 

Are  known  so  well  to  me ; 
And  the  bends  of  brook  and  river 

Where  trout  and  turtle  stay, 
And  mussel-shells  gleam  whitely 

In  the  coming  of  the  May. 


AND    OTHER   POEMS. 


Where  the  robin  is  a-singing, 

'Twere  joy  again  to  go  — 
I've  heard  sometimes  a  music 

In  the  cawing  of  the  crow  — 
Where  the  bobolink  is  trilling 

His  merry  roundelay, 
For  all  glad  things  are  gladder 

In  the  corning  of  the  May. 

Yet  I,  my  feet  returning 

To  childhood's  haunts  again, 
Might  find  them  very  barren 

And  strangely  full  of  pain  ; 
The  forms  that  wandered  with  me 

Would  be  shadows  in  the  way, 
And  my  heart  might  e'en  be  heavy 

In  the  coming  of  the  May. 

But,  with  earnest,  eager  longing 

I  cannot  well  define, 
I'm  turning  to  the  meadows, 

The  woods  of  birch  and  pine. 
Ah  Memory,  be  kind  to  me  ! 

Let  all  else  fade  away, 
But  spare  my  heart  its  rapture 

In  the  coming  of  the  May  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


SWEET   CHARITY. 

THREE  stately  forms  rode  down  the  street, 
Rode  down  on  palfreys  three  : 

And  one  was  Faith,  and  one  was  Hope, 
And  one  was  Charity. 

And  Faith,  upon  her  blood-red  steed, 
Was  girt  with  bow  and  spear  ; 

And  Hope  her  charger  dark  as  night 
Urged  on  with  words  of  cheer. 

But  bending  o'er  a  snowy  mane 
There  beamed  most  graciously 

The  saintly  face  and  saintly  smile 
Of  blessed  Charity. 

Come  ride  with  me,"  now  one  and  all, 

They  spake  with  one  accord  ; 
And  Faith  cried,  "Don  your  panoply," 

And  Hope  held  out  reward. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  173 

But  bending  from  her  milk-white  steed, 
A  voice  came  soft  to  me 

And  said,  "My  child,  you're  sick  and  sore- 
Come  ride  with  Charity." 

She  drew  me  to  her  saddle  bow 

And  clasped  me  with  a  smile, 
And  pressed  unto  her  heart  we  rode 

Through  many  a  weary  mile  ;  — 

Through  bands  of  fierce  and  boisterous  men, 
With  garments  dashed  with  blood  ; 

Through  noisy  streets,  and  angry  marts, 
And  charges  like  a  flood. 

And  Faith  urged  on  the  mighty  men 

Who  fight  with  spear  and  bow, 
And  Hope  the  holy  men  who  do 

The  joy  of  giving  know. 

But  Charity  stooped  down  to  lift 

The  beggar  to  his  feet, 
And  in  her  train  a  weary  host 

Of  pilgrim  souls  to  greet. 


174  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

We  rode  until  we  came  unto 

A  gleaming  jasper  gate, — 
There  Faith  flings  down  her  battered  shield, 

And  all  expectant  wait. 

The  gleaming  gate  is  open  swung, 

And  lo,  an  angel  see, 
Who  sweetly  calls:  "  Now  welcome  Faith, 

And  Hope,  and  Charity! 

"  And  who  are  these  ye  bring  to  me 
From  that  far  world  and  drear  ? " 
And  Faith  said:  "  Lo,  the  saints  who  strove 
To  gain  an  entrance  here." 

And  Hope  with  radiant  smile  spake  out : 
"  Behold  the  godly  men 
Who  for  the  rich  rewards  have  deemed 
Their  fifty  years  as  ten." 

But  Charity  said:  "These  are  they 
Whose  lives  were  lone  and  sad  ; 

No  joy  had  they  in  striving, 
And  no  rewards  they  had." 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  175 

The  jasper  gates  were  opened  wide, 

They  entered  great  and  small  ; 
And  Faith  upon  her  blood-red  steed 

Stood  guard  beside  the  wall. 

And  Hope  with  face  uplifted 

Extended  beckoning  hand 
Unto  the  distant  pilgrims 

Who  sought  the  golden  land. 

But  midst  the  throng  expectant, 

The  milk-white  steed  alone 
Strode  through  the  gates  of  jasper 

Unto  the  great  white  throne. 

Then  from  the  veil  of  splendor 

A  voice  was  heard  to  say: 
'All  hail  thou  well-beloved, 

Thou  hast  been  long  away !  " 

When  from  the  milk-white  palfrey 

The  gracious  rider  sprung, 
I  saw  the  hands  were  pierced 

To  which  I'd  fondly  clung. 


176  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

And  thus  I  know  if  Heaven's  gate 

Shall  ope  for  you  and  me, 
'Twill  be  through  God's  Incarnate  Love 

We  name  sweet  Charity. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  177 


MARGUERITE. 

LIKE  a  glad  bride  asleep 

In  robes  of  white, 
Earth  smiles ;  and  yet  I  keep 

Sad  watch  to-night, — 
Saying,  "Marguerite, 
Ma  petite  Marguerite, 

When  in  that  fair,  far  country  shall  we  meet, 
Marguerite  ? " 

I  waken  with  the  dawn 
And  say,  "  Her  eyes 
Look  from  wide  windows  on 

The  dear  South- skies, 
Where,  calling,  'Marguerite, 
Ma  petite  Marguerite/ 
She  flung  white  oleanders  at  my  feet, 
Marguerite  ! " 

O  fair  child  of  the  sun, 
Can  I  say,  Come, 


178  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Where  skies  are  chill  and  dun  ? 

My  heart  grows  dumb ! 
Oh,  speak,  Marguerite, 
Ma  petite,  Marguerite, 

Can  love  make  all  climes  beautiful  and  sweet, 
Marguerite  ? 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  179 


O   FRIEND   OF   MINE. 

MY  thoughts  to  thee,  O  friend  of  mine, 

Are  ever  going, 
Like  the  glad  rills  that,  singing  through  the  pine, 

Are  swiftly  flowing; 
Bearing  the  soft  perfume 
Of  fir  and  lily  bloom, 

Unto  the  river, 
And  with  a  thousand  sweets, 
From  love-enthroned  retreats 

Enamored  quiver. 

My  life  with  thine,  O  friend  of  mine, 

Is  surely  blending — 
Like  the  glad  rill  that,  singing  from  the  pine 

Finds  joyful  ending. 
Oh,  that  the  kindly  sun 
Would  keep  us  two  in  one, 

Love-bound  forever ! 
Oh,  that  the  kindly  breeze, 
Would  kiss  us  to  the  seas, 

Parted,  oh,  never  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 


TURN   O'ER  A  NEW  LEAF. 

THE    last  page  you've  written   is  crumpled   and 

blurred, 

The  prints  of  soiled  fingers  are  plain; 
Your  letters  misshapen,  your  syllables  slurred, 

Show  the  copy  was  followed  in  vain  ; 
But  pray  do  not  lift  a  disconsolate  face, 

Nor  yield  to  a  profitless  grief, 
But  gather  fresh  courage,  look  shame  in  the  face — 
Turn  o'er  a  new  leaf ! 

How  shining  and  bright !     How  spotless  and  pure  ! 

How  plain  is  the  copy  to  view  ! 
Now  steady  and  slow !     As  you  start  you  are  sure 

The  rest  of  your  task  to  pursue. 
The  Master  stands  near  ;  He  will  come  at  your  call, 

If  perchance  you  may  need  His  relief  ; 
His  voice  it  is  speaking  to  one  and  to  all — 
"  Turn  o'er  a  new  leaf  !  " 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  181 


WATCHING  FOR   ME   AT   THE    WINDOW. 

WATCHING  for  me  at  the  window 
Through  ringlets  of  flossy  gold, 

With  the  roses  clasped  in  his  fingers 
As  only  a  child  may  hold  ; 

And  his  eyes  like  the  laughing  bluebells 
That  dance  in  the  dusky  wold. 

Watching  for  me  at  the  window, 

O  sweetest  of  baby  boys, 
Forgetting  his  gleesome  frolic, 

Forgetting  his  treasured  toys! 
O  rarest  of  budding  roses, 

O  dearest  of  earthly  joys ! 

Watching  for  me  at  the  window  ; 

But  oh,  it  is  far  and  high, 
And  my  feet  they  are  weary  of  climbing 

Since  my  darling  no  longer  is  nigh  ; 
With  his  eyes  that  are  glad  at  my  coming, 

And  his  voice  that  responds  to  my  cry. 


182  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Watching  for  me  at  the  window, 
O  darling,  I  hasten  to  thee, 

As  up  from  the  din  of  the  city 
In  the  days  I  may  nevermore  see  ; 

To  clasp  thee  again  to  my  bosom, 
In  the  Heaven  that  waits  for  me. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  183 


A   NEW  YEAR'S   WISH. 

ACROSS  the  solemn  spaces  of  the  years 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  voices  that  we  knew 
When  life  had  less  of  sorrows  than  of  tears, 
And  fewer  hearts  were  sad  and  more  were  true ! 
Then  take  we  gladder  hope  to  us  again, — 
For  who  shall  say  that  all  our  past  is  vain, 
While  one  sweet  soul  esteems  our  little  worth, 
And  singles  us  from  all  the  good  of  earth 
For  kindly  greeting  as  the  days  go  by  ? 
O  friend  of  mine,  whose  rare  fidelity 
Stands  sentinel  at  Friendship's  holy  shrine, 
Lest  care  and  change  dissever  souls  at  one, 
The  Lord  keep  watch  between  us,  mine  and  thine, 
Till  night  is  gone  and  golden  dawn  begun  ! 


184  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


STARRY   WITNESSES. 

ON  the  hill  and  in  the  green, 

Through  the  dewy  meadow, 
Underneath  the  feet  of  men, 

In  the  sun  and  shadow, 
Lo,  she  lifteth  up  her  face 

To  each  rival  comer, — 
Dandelion,  crown  and  grace 

Of  the  perfect  Summer. 

Who  hath  sent  thee,  starry  one, 

With  thy  faith  and  meekness, 
And  thy  lessons  to  out-run 

Thoughts  of  human  weakness  ? 
Who  hath  set  thee  in  the  way 

Of  the  faint  and  weary, 
Just  to  teach  that  beauty  may 

Bloom  where  all  is  dreary  ? 

Who  hath  said  :  "  O  flower,  go 
To  my  sons  and  daughters, 


AND   OTHER   POEMS  185 

Tell  them  there  is  room  to  grow, 

Down  by  many  waters ; 
That  if  crowded  from  the  plain 

To  the  lane  and  by-way, 
They  may  lift  their  heads  again, 

Brave  as  on  the  highway." 

There  is  One  who  knoweth  well 

Human  hearts  are  breaking, 
Knoweth  more  than  we  can  tell 

Of  their  silent  aching  : 
And  along  the  rugged  ways 

Tender  tokens  giveth ; 
Starry  witnesses  give  praise 

That  Our  Father  liveth. 


186  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


WOOD   VIOLETS. 

VIOLETS,  my  violets, 

Springing  from  the  mould, 
From  the  star-grass  and  the  mosses 

Of  the  woodland  dim  and  old ; 
Sweet  the  stories  you  are  telling 

Of  the  fading,  happy  years, 
When  the  loves  were  young  that  vanished 

Long  ago  in  mists  and  tears. 

Violets,  my  violets, 

Gazing,  I  a  moment  go 
Where  the  moist  sweet  woody  odors 

All  around  me  breathe  and  blow  ; 
Where  the  bluebells  dip  their  clusters, 

And  the  purple  orchids  hide  ; 
And,  with  heart  grown  strangely  happy, 

Fling  my  burdens  all  aside. 

Violets,  my  violets, 

There  was  once  a  child  that  flew 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  187 

Through  the  depths  of  field  and  forest, 

Searching  patiently  for  you  ; 
And  that  child  who  now  so  wearies 

Of  the  fairest  thing  that  grows, 
Once  grew  wild  with  rapture  finding 

But  a  single  woodland  rose. 

Violets,  my  violets, 

If  you  knew  how  dark  and  chill 
All  our  fair  young  world  is  growing, 

Could  you  bloom  so  lovely  still  ? 
Could  you  waken  hopes  that,  flying, 

Swiftly  fall  with  broken  wings, 
If  you  knew  a  time  of  dying 

Stills  the  sweetest  voice  that  sings  ? 

Violets,  my  violets, 

It  is  but  a  little  boon : 
Bend  your  kindly  eyes  above  me, 

When  I  go,  or  late,  or  soon; 
And  perchance  some  sad  one  going 

Through  the  forests  of  the  dead, 
Shall  remember  where  I'm  sleeping, 

By  the  violets  at  my  head. 


1 88 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL- DAY, 


THE   OLD   GNARLED    APPLE-TREE. 

OF  all  the  childish  memories 

That  brighten  with  the  flying  years, 
And  bring  a  gladness  to  the  eyes 

Like  laughter  coming  after  tears, 
There's  none  that  makes  the  heart  bound  on 

With  all  its  youthful  jollity, 
Like  that  sweet  vision  of  the  lawn — 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 

It  stood  just  where  the  lawn  swept  down 

Into  a  rapid,  steep  descent, 
Beneath  each  stately  neighbor's  frown, 

A  placid  picture  of  content ; 
And  let  the  years  bring  what  they  would, 

The  orchards  bare  or  burdened  be, 
Abundant  fruit  it  bore  and  good — 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  189 

'Twas  said  that  many  years  agone 

A  sad-faced  lady,  with  her  child, 
Came  unattended  and  alone, 

And  dwelt  within  the  western  wild ; 
She  by  the  simple  people  round 

Was  more  than  human  deemed  to  be  ; 
Her  saintly  hand  placed  in  the  ground 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 

The  woman  seemed  half  happy  grown  ; 

The  child  was  desolate  and  sad, 
The  flowers  and  the  birds  had  flown — 

The  only  playmates  that  he  had  ; 
And  so  one  day,  in  wanton  play, 

He  ran  with  rude  and  reckless  glee ; 
One  tender  sapling  broken  lay — 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 

The  woman  bound  it  with  a  tear, 
And  blessed  it  in  her  saintly  way ; 

And  that  is  why  from  year  to  year, 
As  I  have  heard  the  people  say, 

The  springtime  always  brings  her  bloom, 
The  summer  fruitage  fair  to  see, 


190  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

To  crown  with  plenty  and  perfume 
The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 

All  glad  things  loved  the  dear  old  tree  ; 

And  early  came  the  screaming  jay 
The  robin  and  the  honey-bee, 

And  children  laughing  in  the  way  ; 
And  in  the  dawn  and  in  the  dew 

Arose  a  joyous  melody — 
The   praiseful  song  of  Nature  to 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree. 

My  little  sister,  fair  and  sweet, — 

Now  sadly  far  from  me,  alas !  — 
'Twas  only  yesterday  our  feet 

Slipped  softly  through  the  dewy  grass; 
Slipped  through  the  grass,  and  through  the  gloom, 

And  wild  with  merriment  and  glee 
We  filled  our  wide-spread  aprons  from 

The  old  gnarled  apple-tree  ! 

Do  I  but  wander?    When  alone 

My  life  grows  young  and  glad  and  warm  ; 
The  dearest  joys  the  heart  has  known 

Are  void  of  earthly  shape  and   form. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


Then  fly,  my  soul,  and  clasp  again 
The  sacred  sweets  of  memory  ! 

The  fondest  loves  of  youth  enchain 
The  old  gnarled  apple-tree  ! 


192  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


A   FRIEND'S   SOUVENIR. 

YOUR  little  gift-box,  dear,  I  own, 

With  all  the  treasures  in  it ; 
But  fairer  far  the  face  that  shone 

On  me  one  little  minute  — 
That  glad  and  gracious  face  that  makes 

The  dimmest  place  seem  cheery, 
And  takes  away  a  thousand  aches 

From  hearts  grown  sick  or  weary. 

I  do  remember  how  a  hand 

Stole  tenderly  unto  me, 
One  hour  when  care's  acute  command 

Had  sent  a  shiver  through  me ; 
I  do  remember  how  that  thrill 

Of  speechless  consolation 
Keeps  all  my  pulses  bounding  still 

In  silent  exaltation. 

Sweet  friend,  thy  beauty  is  of  God, 
To  bless  and  cheer  and  brighten ; 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  193 

A  bounteous  sun  to  fling  abroad 
The  hopes  that  help  and  lighten  ; 

Thy  heart  a  well-spring  full  and  strong 
A  fount  of  generous  feeling ; 

Thy  soul  a  happy  bird  of  song 
Toward  which  our  loves  are  stealing. 


194  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


WHAT   DO   THE   ROSES   SAY? 

WHAT  do  the  roses  say,  love,  my  love, 

Glad  as  the  morning  and  fair  as  the  South  ? 

Bend  to  me  fondly  the  rose-red  leaves 
Of  your  rose-red  mouth  ! 

What  do  the  roses  say,  sweet,  my  sweet, 
Light  as  the  zephyrs  and  bright  as  the  dawn  ? 

Summer  is  beckoning,  youth  is  fleet, 
Let  love  love  on  ! 

What  do  the  roses  say,  dear,  my  dear, 
Pale  and  dewy  and  blood-red  all  ? 

Stay  me  with  kisses,  the  night  is  anear, 
And  the  rose  leaves  fall ! 

What  do  the  roses  say,  heart,  my  heart, 
Proud,  impatient,  and  tossed  with  doubt  ? 

Bloom  and  beauty  from  life  may  part, 
But  life  lengthens  out ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  195 


VISIONS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

O  THE  visions  that  the  night  brings, 
O  the  fluttering  of  white  wings, 
O  benignant  eyes  and  beautiful  that  down  upon  us 

bend  ! 

O  the  hum  of  happy  voices, 
O  the  glad  throng  that  rejoices, 
When  the  visions  of  the  midnight  bring  the  absent 
friend  to  friend  ! 

O  the  dainty  feet  that  find  me, 
O  the  dimpled  arms  that  bind  me, 
Of  the  little  love  that  softly  from  the  star-land  comes 

to  me  ! 

O  the  gladness,  past  revealing, 
Filling  soul  and  heart  and  feeling, 
When  upon   my  yearning  bosom   she  is  sleeping 
peacefully  ! 

Ah,  how  sweet  to  know  this  dreaming 
Is  a  glimpse,  a  twilight  gleaming, 


196  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Of  the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  heaven  we  adore  ; 
And  the  faces  which  behold  us, 
And  the  arms  that  fondly  fold  us, 

Are  the  faces  and  embraces  of  the  loved  ones  gone 
before. 

O  the  comfort  that  the  night  brings, 
O  the  fluttering  of  white  wings, 
O  benignant  eyes  and  beautiful  that  down  upon  us 

bend! 

O  the  hum  of  happy  voices, 
O  the  glad  throng  that  rejoices, 
When  the  visions  of  the  midnight  bring  the  absent 
friend  to  friend  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  197 


THE   FIRST   CROCUS. 

Do  you  know  where  the  crocus  blows  ? 

Under  the  snows  ; 

Wide-eyed  and  winsome  and  daintily  fair 
As  waxen  exotic  close-tended  and  rare ; 

Every  child  knows 

Where  the  first  crocus  blows. 

Do  you  know  why  the  crocus  grows 

Under  the  snows  ? 

To  tell  that  the  winter  is  over  and  gone, 
And  soon  bird  and  blossom  will  gladden  the  lawn 

And  the  hedge- rows 

Where  the  first  crocus  blows. 

Do  you  know  when  the  crocus  grows 

Under  the  snows  ? 

When  little  ones  sleep  in  their  warm  downy  beds, 
With   mother -hands    smoothing  their  dear  curly 
heads ; 

While  the  storm  goes 

Where  the  first  crocus  blows. 


198  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 

Do  you  know  while  the  crocus  grows 

Under  the  snows, 

That  One  smileth  softly  and  says,  "  I  will  send 
This  promise  that  all  stormy  times  have  an  end. 

So  our  Lord  knows 

Where  the  first  crocus  blows. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  199 


MARION. 

OH,  have  you  seen  my  Marion, 
Sweet  summer  breezes,  flying  far 
From  sun  to  sun,  from  star  to  star  ? 
Have  ye  caressed  her  soft  brown  hair, 
And  kissed  her  feet  and  white  arms  bare  ? 
Then  whither,  tell  me,  hath  she  flown, 
My  little  one,  my  love,  my  own — 
My  Marion  ! 

My  pretty  blue-eyed  Marion, 
Whose  small  white  hands  swept  o'er  my  face 
With  such  a  dainty,  tender  grace, 
Who  slept  so  softly  on  my  breast, 
And  woke,  a  glad  bird  from  her  nest; 
Bear  ye  no  message,  breezes,  say, 
From  her  I  mourn  both  night  and  day — 
My  Marion  ! 

Have  ye  not  seen  my  Marion, 
O  sunbeams  as  ye  dancing  go 
From  fields  of  bloom  to  peaks  of  snow? 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY. 


She  passed  so  quickly  from  my  sight, 
My  poor,  sad  eyes  were  dazzled  quite, 
And  but  a  moment  could  I  see 
The  white  host  bearing  her  from  me — 
My  Marion  ! 

O  little,  loving  Marion  ! 
Is  it  in  kingdoms  far  away 
You  wait  for  me  both  night  and  day  ? 
Is  it  in  lands  beyond  the  sun, 
In  groves  of  spice  and  cinnamon  ? 
Is  it  in  gardens  glad  with  bloom, 
And  redolent  with  sweet  perfume — 
My  Marion  ? 

Ah,  dimpled,  darling  Marion ! 
I  fain  would  be  the  one  to  meet 
Your  tiny,  tottering,  tipsy  feet ; 
I  fain  would  run  with  outstretched  arms, 
To  soothe  your  childish,  sweet  alarms  ; 
Would  smoothe  your  skirts  and  comb  your  hair, 
And  rock  you  in  the  glad  blue  air  — 
My  Marion  ! 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


O  laughing,  lisping  Marion  ! 
When  I  on  some  autumnal  morn 
Go  through  the  vales  of  tasseled  corn, 
And  purpling  vines  and  bending  trees, 
And  singing  birds  and  humming  bees, 
Shall  I  not  in  some  secret  place 
Behold  you,  darling,  face  to  face — 
My  Marion  ? 

O  pure  and  patient  Marion  ! 
Or  child,  or  maid,  when  all  is  done, 
Your  face  will  be  the  same  sweet  one  ; 
The  shy,  glad  welcome  in  your  eyes, 
My  dream  fulfilled  of  Paradise  ! 
But  now,  oh,  whither  have  you  flown, 
My  little  one,  my  love,  my  own  — 
My  Marion  ! 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 


MY   NAMESAKE. 

WITH  the  sunshine  and  the  flowers, 
With  the  sweets  of  summer  showers, 
With  the  daisies  and  the  dew, 
With  the  violets  so  blue  ; 
With  the  shy  forget-me-not 
Hiding  in  sequestered  spot ; 
In  the  arms  of  kindly  Fate, 
Came  our  darling  Baby  Kate. 

When  she  came,  the  Sunshine  said  : 
I  will  crown  her  dainty  head 
With  the  finest  threads  they  spin 
In  the  realms  Elysian  ;  " 
Said  the  Violets  :     "  Her  eyes 
Shall  reflect  our  fairest  dyes  ;  " 
While  the  Lily  and  the  Rose 
On  her  cheeks  and  lips  repose  ; 
And  the  Zephyrs  dancing  wait 
On  the  steps  of  Baby  Kate. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS.  203 

Child  of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Child  of  sweetest  summer  showers, 
Bud  and  blossom  into  bloom, 
Fill  our  lives  with  glad  perfume. 
Thou  the  fairest  thing  that  blows, 
Be  it  lily,  be  it  rose  ; 
On  thy  dawning  life  we  wait, 
Dainty,  darling  Baby  Kate  ! 


204  CAMP-FIRE,   MEMORIAL-DAY, 


FRATERNITY,  CHARITY,  LOYALTY. 

SEARCH  each  comrade's  heart,  and  there, 
Graven  with  the  tenderest  care, 
You  will  find  these  letters  three 
Linked  in  blessed  trinity, — 
Honored,  lov.ed,  and  heeded  well, 
Honored  more  than  tongue  can  tell, — 
Golden  are  they— F.,  C.,  L. 

Great  is  this  Fraternity  — 
Brooding  o'er  the  flight  of  years, 
Born  of  love  for  you  and  me, 
Born  of  battle  and  of  tears  ; 
These  are  they  who  stood  the  test 
When  the  charging  columns  prest — 
Won  their 'fame,  and  are  at  rest. 

Charity  !  —  a  gracious  spell 
Wrought  in  days  of  doom  and  dread, 
When  they  stooped  to  hearken  well 
What  a  dying  comrade  said — 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  205 

For  the  wives  and  orphans  far, 
Shivering  in  the  blasts  of  war ; 
For  the  shattered  ones  that  are. 

Loyalty  !  —  'twas  theirs  to  show 
What  are  faith  and  fealty, 
Upward  where  the  bugles  blow 
On  the  heights  of  Victory  ; 
Upward  from  the  gloom  of  night, 
From  the  clamor  of  the  fight, 
To  the  blaze  of  Freedom's  light. 

Comrades  —  ye  whose  hearts  are  sealed 

To  the  glorious  trinity  — 

We  our  reverent  homage  yield, 

Lift  the  hat  and  bend  the  knee  ! 

Honor  to  whom  honor's  due, 

Honor  to  the  loyal  Blue, — 

Honor,  love,  from  me  and  you  ! 


206  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


THE  POET'S   WORLD. 

THE  poet  rose,  his  heart  was  light, 
He  journeyed  with  the  sun  ; 

He  blessed  the  golden  day  ;    at  night 
He  hailed  the  dark  begun  ; 

Because,  you  see,  his  heart  was  light  — 
His  life  was  in  its  sun. 

The  poet  said  :     "  A  fairer  world 

Lies  just  beyond  my  ken  ; 
Methinks  I  see  its  flags  unfurled, 

Its  royal  ranks  of  men." 
His  hope  it  was  the  poet's  world, 

His  sight  the  poet's  ken. 

But  when  long  days  he  walked  alone, 
And  saw  the  world  the  same  — 

But  that  the  hills  were  higher  grown, 
And  that  his  feet  were  lame, — 

He  wondered  :     "  Is  the  world  so  lone, 
Or  is  my  heart  the  same  ? " 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


And  so  he  sat  him  down  and  wept, 
His  days  they  were  so  sad, 

And  wondered  if  the  friends  he  left 
Were  feeling  quite  as  bad  ;  — 

You  see,  the  poet  when  he  wept 
Thought  all  the  world  was  sad. 

And  then  the  poet  turned  him  round, 
And  vowed  no  more  to  roam  ; 

No  fairer  country  had  he  found 
Than  that  he  left  at  home, — 

As  things  will  ever  come  around 
To  those  who  vow  to  roam. 

The  poet's  heart  is  mine  to-day  ; 

And  thus  it  is  I  know 
There  are  no  happier  scenes  than  lay 

Around  the  Long  Ago  ; 
The  poet's  heart  mine  own  to-day, 

This  truth  I  feel  and  know. 

No  friends  so  true,  no  eyes  so  kind, 

No  life  so  sweet  and  fair, 
As  in  the  days  we  left  behind, 

The  days  so  free  from  care; 


208  CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL -DAY, 

The  fealty  and  the  faith  so  kind, 
The  life  so  wondrous  fair. 

Heaven  rest  the  poet's  faithful  heart, 
Heaven  rest  his  soul  and  mine, 

And  give  us  all  when  far  apart 
This  comfort  all  divine  : 

That  Heaven  will  rest  the  faithful  heart, 
*          This  soul  of  mine  and  thine ! 


AND   OTHER    POEMS.  209 


HE    LEADETH   ME. 

NOT  always  through  the  meadows  fair  and  wide, 

In  peaceful  valley  and  by  sunlit  sea, 
Not  always  where  the  quiet  waters  glide, 
He  leadeth  me. 

Nay,  oft  the  paths  are  perilous  and  steep ; 

Nay,  oft  below  the  waves  beat  angrily ; 
Nay,  oft  through  shadows  where  I  pausing  weep 
He  leadeth  me. 

Once,  all  the  days  in  merriment  went  by, 

And  all  the  nights  in  idle  revelry ; 
I  lived  to  laugh,  and,  laughing,  mocked  the  cry — 
"  He  leadeth  me  !  " 

O  sweet,  sweet  wealth  of  life !  "  I  woke  to  say, 

And  bound  my  girdle  for  the  rounds  of  glee  ; 
And  would  not  heed  Him  pleading  in  the  way, 
Who  leadeth  me. 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY. 


The  morning  shadows  fled  across  the  plain, 

The  noontide  burned,  my  feet  sank  wearily ; 
He  turned  and  left  me  blinded  in  my  pain, 
Who  leadeth  me. 

All  day  upon  the  withered  earth  I  lay, — 

O  cruel  Earth,  that  erst  so  kind  could  be  !  — 
And  scarce  I  heard  the  whispered  message  say, 
"  He  leadeth  me." 

All  day  the  sun  consumed  me  with  his  flame, — 

O  hateful  sun,  once  beautiful  to  see  !  — 
Upon  my  burning  brow  the  impress  came  : 
"  He  leadeth  me." 

I  saw  it  on  the  grasses  bowed  and  bent, 
And  in  the  lightnings  flashing  angrily, 
And  on  the  storm-clouds  black  and  thunder-rent 
"  He  leadeth  me." 

O  thou  Supreme  !  "  I  said,  "  on  sea  and  land, 

Whose  mighty  face  for  shame  I  may  not  see, 
Vouchsafe  but  this  :  one  pressure  of  the  hand 
That  leadeth  me  !  " 


AND   OTHER   POEMS. 


And  softly  through  the  gloom  it  clasped  my  own, 

And  raised  me  gently  to  my  bended  knee ; 
I  rose,  and  saw  the  halo  from  Him  thrown, 
Who  leadeth  me. 

And  now,  though  in  the  desert  waste  I  go, 

Or  through  the  storm,  or  on  the  pitiless  sea, 
I  fear  nor  foe  nor  pain  ;  for  well  I  know 
He  leadeth  me. 

And  so  I  feel,  my  trembling  hand  in  His, 
It  is  but  well  where'er  my  life  may  be  ; 
If  present  glories  fade,  to  greater  bliss 
He  leadeth  me. 


CAMP-FIRE,    MEMORIAL-DAY, 


"AUF  WIEDERSEHEN." 

NAY,  not  good-bye  !  a  kindlier  word 
Our  Teuton  cousinship  has  stirred, 
To  give  a  hope  for  parting  days 
To  him  who  goes,  to  him  who  stays, — 
The  hope  that  we  may  meet  again  : 
Auf  wiederschen  !  Auf  wiedersehen  ! 

And  so  we  speed  thee,  parting  friend, 
And  forth  to  fame  and  fortune  send  ; 
And  though  we  pray  that  you  may  find 
As  faithful  friends  as  those  behind, 
Yet  still  in  joy  or  still  in  pain  : 
Auf  wiedersehen  !   Auf  wiedersehen  ! 

And  should  the  great  world  prove  unkind, 
And  fame  and  fortune  hard  to  find  ; 
Should  sorrow  come,  or  friends  forsake, 
And  discipline  be  hard  to  take, 
Retrace  your  steps,  the  way  is  plain  : 
Auf  wiedersehen!   Auf  wiedersehen! 


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